Cobgne  Cathedral. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


V 


International  Limited  Edition 

THE    RHINE 

IN   TWO    VOLUMES 

VOL.  L 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON 

ESTES    and     LAURIAT 

PUBLISHERS 


INTERNATIONAL  LIMITED  EDITION. 
Limited  to  One  Thousand  Copies. 

No,.«6S 


TYPOGRAPHY,  ELECTROTYPfNG,  AND 
PRINTING  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON, 
UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


SJriVERSri Y  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAiMA  BAliliARA 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

FROM    PARIS    TO   FERT^-SOUS-JOUARRE. 

PAGE 

Dammartin.  —  Its  Literature  and  Curiosities.  —  An  Accident  and  its 
Eesult.  —  A  German  Wagon.  — The  Pleasures  of  Country  Trav- 
elling.—  The  Philosophical  Hunchback  and  Reasoning  Gen- 
darme. —  Meaux  and  its  Curiosities  .     .    , 1 


CHAPTER  II. 

MOXTMIRAIL  MOXTMORT.  EPERNAY. 

Montmirail  Castle.  — Vanx  Champs.  —  The  Reconter  and  Eeflections 
thereupon.  —  Montmort  Castle.  —  Mademoiselle  Jeannette.  — 
The  Churches  and  the  Curiosities  of  Epernay.  —  Anecdote  of 
Strozzi  and  Brisquet.  —  Henry  II.'s  Fool 9 

CHAPTER  III. 

VAREN-NT:S,  —  CHALOXS.  SAINTE   MENEHOULD. 

The  Reverie.  —  The  Arrest  of  Louis  XVI.  —  The  Salutation  and  its 
Effects.  —  Notre  Dame  at  Chalons.  —  Antiquarian  Forgetful- 
ness.  —  The  Inscription.  —  Watchman,  Wife,  and  Gnome  Son. — 
Abbey  of  Notre  Dame  de  I'Epine.  —  Storm.  —  Metz  Hotel.  — 
Sleeping  Canary.  —  Host  and  Hostess.  —  Champagne  and  the 
Signification  of  Champenois, —  Madame  Sabliere  and  La  Fontaine      1 6 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

FROM    VILLERS-COTTERETS    TO   LA   FRONTIERE. 

PAGE 

The  Effects  of  Travelling.  —  The  Eetrograde  Movement.  —  Eeflec- 
tion.— The  Secret  of  Stars. —  The  Inscription  "I.  C."  — The 
Cathedral  where  King  Pepin  was  crowned.  —  The  Prisoner's  sad 
Rencontre.  —  Rheims.  —  Church  at  Me'zieres.  —  The  Effects  of  a 
Bomb.  —  Sedan  and  its  Contents.  —  The  Transpiring  Events  at 
Turenne's  Birth.  —  Conversation  of  a  Sir  John  Falstaff  and  his 
Better-half 32 

CHAPTER  V. 

GIVET. 

Flemish  Architects.  —  Little  Givet.  — The  Inscription.  —  Jose  Gutie- 

rez. — The  Peasant-girl 49 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   BANKS    OF    THE   MEUSE.  —  DINANT.  —  NAMUR. 

The  Lesse.  —  A  Flemish  Garden. —  The  Manakin.  —  The  Tomb- 
stone. —  Athletic  Demoiselles.  —  Signboards  and  their  Utility     .      54 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE   BANKS    OF    THE   MEUSE,  —  HUY.  —  LI^GE. 

A  Chapel  of  the  Tenth  Century.  —  Iron  Works  of  Mr.  Cockerill; 
their  Singular  Appearance.  —  St.  Paul's  at  Liege. —  Palace  of  the 
Ecclesiastical  Princes  of  Liege.- — Significant  Decorations  of  a 
Room  at  Liege 60 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    BANKS    OF    THE   VESDRE.  —  VERVIERS. 
Railways.  —  Miners  at  Work.  —  Louis  XIV. 69 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  IX. 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.  —  THE   TOMB    OF    CHARLEMAGNE. 

PAGE 

Legend  of  the  Wolf  and  Pineapple.  —  Charlemagne.  —  Barbarossa. 

—  The  Untombing  of    Charlemagne.  —  Exhibition    of    Relics. 

—  Arm-chair  of  Charlemagne.  —  The  Swiss  Guide.  —  Hotel  de 
Ville,  the  Birthplace  of  Charlemagne 72 

CHAPTER  X. 

COLOGNE.  —  THE   BANKS    OF   THE    RHINE.  —  ANDERNACH. 

Deuz.  —  Cathedral  of  Cologne.  —  The  Peasantry.  —  The  Strolling 
Musician.  —  Personifiers  of  the  Gods  Goulu,  Gluton,  Gouifre,  and 
Gouliaf .  —  Dome  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne.  —  Epitaph.  — 
Tomb  of  the  Three  "Wise  Men  of  the  East.  —  Destiny.  —  The 
Hotel  de  Ville.  —  The  Three  Bas-Reliefs.  — The  Epic  Poet  of 
Cologne.  —  Cologne  at  Night.  —  Time  and  its  Effects     ....      89 

CHAPTER  XI. 

APROPOS    OF   THE   HOUSE   IBACH. 

Man's  Insignificancy.  —  The   House    Ibach.  —  Marie    de    Medicis, 

Richelieu,  and  Louis  XHI 109 

CHAPTER  XII. 

A    FEW   WORDS    RESPECTING   THE   WALDRAF   MUSEUM. 

Schleis  Kotten.  —  "  Stretching-out-of -the- Hand  System,"  or,  Travel- 
ling Contingencies. —  Recapitulation 115 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

ANDERNACH. 

A  View  from  Andernach.  —  Village  of  Leutersdorf .  —  Cathedral.  — 
Its  Relics.  —  Andernach  Castle.  —  Inscription.  —  The  Tomb  of 
Hoche.  —  Gothic  Church  and  Inscription       122 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    RHINE. 


PAGE 


The  Ehine  at  Evening.  —  Contrast  of  the  Rhine  -mth.  other  Rivers. 
—  The  First  People  who  took  Possession  of  the  Banks  of  the 
Rhine.  —  Titus  and  the  Twenty-second  Legion.  —  Mysterious 
Populations  of  the  Rhine.  —  Civilization.  —  Pepin-le-Bref,  Char- 
lemagne, and  Napoleon 130 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE    MOUSE. 

Velmich.  —  Legend  of  the  Priest  and  the  Silver  Bell.  —  Giant's 
Tomb.  —  Explanation  of  the  Mouse.  —  The  Solitary  Inhabitants 
of  the  Ruin 150 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   MOUSE. 

Colossal  Profile.  —  The  Duchy  of  M.  de  Nassau.  —  Country  Sports : 
their  Punishment.  —  The  Boatman 158 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

SAINT   GOAR. 

The  Cat.  —  Its  Interior.  —  Fabulous  Rock  of  Lurley.  —  The  Swiss 
Valley.  — The  Fruit  Girl. —  The  Reichenberg.  —  The  Barbers' 
Village.  —  Legend.  —  The  Rheiufels.  —  Oberwesel.  —  French 
Hussar. — A  German  Supper 162 


CHAPTER  XVTIT. 

BACHARACH. 

Furstenberg,  Sonnech,  and  Heimberg. — Europe.  —  A  Happy  Little 
World.  —  The  Cemetery 173 


CONTENTS.  IX 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
''fike!   fike!" 

PAGE 

Lorch.  —  An  Incident.  —  Combat  of  the  Hydra  and  Dragon.  —  The 

Hotel  P at  Lorch 179 

CHAPTER  XX. 

FROM   LORCH    TO   BINGEN". 

Travelling  on  Foot ;  its  Advantages  and  Pleasures.  —  The  Strange 
Rencontre.  —  A  Dangerous  Spectator.  —  The  Explication.  —  Ac- 
tors on  a  Holiday.  —  Marvellous  Facts,  and  their  Connection 
with  the  "  Holiday  of  a  Menagerie."  —  A  Reminiscence.  —  Furs- 
tenberg  Castle.  —  The  Three  Brothers,  Cadenet,  Luynes,  and 
Brandes.  —  The  Three  Students.  —  Sublimity  of  Nature.  —  Ruin. 

—  The  Enigma.  —  Falkenburg  Castle.  —  The  Blooming  Group. 

—  Stella.  —  Guntram  and  Liba.  —  Mausethurm.  —  Hatto,   and 

the  Legend  of  the  Rats 186 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

LEGEND    OF   THE   HANDSOME   PECOPIN   AND   THE 
BEAUTIFUL    BAULDOUR. 

The  Hunter  and  the  Spinner.  —  The  Planet  Venus  and  the  Bird 
Phoenix.  —  The  Difference  between  the  Ear  of  a  Young  Man 
and  that  of  an  Old  One.  —  The  Qualities  Essential  to  Different 
Embassies.  —  Happy  Effect  of  a  Good  Thought.  —  The  Devil  is 
Wrong  in  being  a  Gourmand.  —  Amiable  Proposition  of  an 
Old  Sage.  —  The  "Wandering  Christian.  —  The  Danger  to  which 
we  expose  ourselves  by  getting  on  a  Strange  Horse.  —  The  Re- 
turn. —  Bauldour    228 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BINGEN. 

Houses  at  Bingen.  —  Paradise  Plain.  — The  Klopp.  —  Mademoiselle 
Bertin.  — The  Sage 253 


X  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MATEXCE. 

PAGE 

Cathedral.  —  Its  Interior.  —  Henry  Fraueulob,  the  Tasso  of  May- 
ence.  —  Market-place 265 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FRANKFORT    ON    THE    MAINE. 

Jews  at  Frankfort.  —  Slaughter-house.  —  Roemer.  —  Inhabitants  of 
the  Steeple 283 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   RHINE. 

Origin  of  Switzerland  and  of  the  Rhine.  —  Configuration  of  the 
Rhine.  —  Its  Banks  and  its  Towns.  —  Rafts  on  the  Rhine.  — 
Secret  Souvenirs.  —  Oberwerth 298 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Vol.  I. 

Page 

Cologne  Cathedeal Frontispiece 

Watch  Tower,  Andernach 128 

St.  Goar,  Lurley  Rock 163 

BiNGEN 254 

EouNTAiN,  Market-Place,  Mayence 280 

SoNNECH  Castle 320 


THE    EHINE. 


CHAPTER   I. 

FKOM   PARIS   TO  FERT^-SOUS-JOUARRE. 

Dammartin :  its  Literature  and  Curiosities.  —  An  Accident  and  its  Kesult. 
A  German  Wagon.  —  The  Pleasures  of  Country  Travelling.  —  The 
Philosophical  Huuchhack  and  lleasoning  Gendarme.  —  Meaux  and  ita 
Curiosities. 

ABOUT  two  days  ago  I  started  from  Paris.  Pursuing 
my  way  by  the  route  of  Meaux,  leaving  St.  Denis 
and  Montmorency  on  the  left,  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  the 
rising  ground  at  the  bottom  of  the  plain ;  but  a  turning 
in  the  road  soon  hid  it  from  my  sight.  On  long  excur- 
sions, I  have  a  peculiar  ^penchant  for  short  stages,  hate  to 
be  encumbered  with  luggage,  and  love  to  be  alone  in  my 
carriage  with  the  two  friends  of  my  boyhood,  —  Virgil 
and  Tacitus. 

As  I  had  travelled  by  Soissons  a  few  years  ago,  I  took 
the  Chalons  road,  which,  owing  to  innovators,  or,  as  they 
style  themselves,  utilitarians,  has  now  but  very  little  in- 
terest left.  Nanteuille-Haudoin  boasts  no  longer  of  the 
castle  built  by  Francis  I. ;  the  magnificent  manor  of  the 
Duke  of  Valois,  at  Villiers-Cotterets,  has  been  converted 
into  a  poor-house ;  and  there,  as  almost  everywhere, 
sculpture  and  painting  —  the  mind  of  by-gone  ages,  the 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  1 


2  THE  EHINE. 

grace  of  the  sixteenth  century  —  have  disappeared.  The 
enormous  tower  of  Dammartin,  from  which  Montmartre, 
nine  leagues  distant,  could  be  distinctly  seen,  has  been 
razed  to  the  ground.  Its  lizard  and  vertical  form  gave 
rise  to  the  proverb,  which  I  could  never  well  understand : 
"  II  est  comme  le  chateau  de  Dammartin,  qui  crfeve  de 
rire."  ^ 

Since  it  has  been  deprived  of  its  old  bastille,  in  which 
the  Bishop  of  Meaux,  when  he  quarrelled  with  the  Count 
of  Champagne,  took  refuge  with  seven  of  his  followers, 
Dammartin  has  ceased  to  engender  proverbs.  It  is  now 
only  remarkable  for  literary  compositions  similar  to  this 
note,  which  I  copied  verbatim  from  a  book  lying  on  the 
table  of  an  auherge :  — 

''Dammartin  (Seine-et-Marne)  is  a  small  town,  situated 
on  a  hill ;  lace  is  the  chief  article  of  manufacture.  Hotel : 
Sainte  Anne.  Curiosities:  the  parish  church,  hall,  1600 
inhabitants." 

The  short  space  of  time  which  those  tyrants  of  dili- 
gences, called  conducteurs,  allow  for  dinner,  would  not 
permit  me  to  ascertain  if  it  was  true  that  the  sixteen 
hundred  inhabitants  of  Dammartin  were  really  curiosities. 

In  the  most  lovely  weather,  and  on  the  finest  road  in 
the  world,  between  Claye  and  Meaux,  the  wheel  of  my 
vehicle  broke.  (I  am  one  who  always  continues  his 
journey,  for  if  the  carriage  renounce  me,  I  abandon  the 
carriage.)  At  that  instant  a  small  diligence  passed, 
which  was  that  of  Touchard.     There  was  only  one  va- 

J  He  is  like  Dammartin  Castle,  bursting  with  laughter. 


fertI^sous  jouarre.  3 

cant  seat;  I  took  it,  and  in  ten  minutes  after  the  acci- 
dent I  was  once  more  on  my  route,  perched  upon  the 
imperiale,  between  a  hunchback  and  a  gendarme. 

Behold  me  now  at  Fertd-sous-Jouarre,  a  pretty  little 
town,  with  its  three  bridges,  its  old  mill  supported  by 
five  arches  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and  its  handsome 
pavilion  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII.,  which,  it  is  said, 
belonged  to  the  Duke  of  Saint-Simon,  and  is  now  in  the 
hands  of  a  grocer. 

If  in  fact  M.  de  Saint-Simon  did  possess  that  old 
habitation,  I  very  much  doubt  whether  his  natal  man- 
sion of  Fertd-Vidame  ever  had  a  more  lordly  and  stately 
appearance,  or  was  better  adapted  to  his  rank  of  duke 
and  peer,  than  the  charming  little  castle  of  Fertd-sous- 
Jouarre. 

The  time  is  perfect  for  travelling.  The  fields  are  full 
of  laborers  finishing  the  harvest  and  building  immense 
stacks  at  different  spots,  which  in  their  half-completed 
condition  are  not  unlike  the  pyramids  in  ruins  that  are 
met  in  Syria.  The  ridges  of  corn  are  so  arranged  on  the 
brow  of  the  hills  as  to  resemble  the  back  of  a  zebra. 

In  travelling  I  do  not  seek  for  incidents ;  my  desire  is 
fresh  scenes,  which  excite  and  create  ideas,  and  for  that 
new  objects  suffice.  Besides,  I  am  content  with  little.  If 
I  see  trees,  the  greensward,  and  have  the  open  air,  with  a 
road  before  and  behind  me,  I  am  perfectly  satisfied.  If 
the  country  is  flat,  I  like  an  extended  horizon ;  if  it  be 
mountainous,  I  like  the  landscapes,  and  here  one  is  ever 
presenting  itself  to  the  view.  Before  me  is  a  charming 
valley ;  to  the  right  and  left,  the  strange  caprices  of  the 


4  THE  RHINE. 

soil,  —  huge  hills  bearing  the  marks  of  husbandry,  and 
squares  pleasing  to  the  sight ;  here  and  there  groups  of 
low  cottages,  whose  roofs  seem  to  touch  the  ground ;  at 
the  end  of  the  valley  a  long  line  of  verdure,  with  a  cur- 
rent of  water,  which  is  crossed  by  a  little  stone  bridge, 
partly  dismantled  by  age,  that  serves  to  unite  the  two 
highways.  When  I  was  there  a  wagon  crossed  it,  —  an 
enormous  German  wagon,  swelled,  girt,  and  corded,  which 
had  the  appearance  of  the  belly  of  Gargantua,  —  drawn 
upon  four  wheels  by  eight  horses.  Before  me,  near  the 
opposite  hill,  and  shining  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  the  road 
takes  its  course,  upon  which  the  shadows  of  the  tall  trees 
represent,  in  black,  a  huge  comb  minus  several  teeth. 

Ah,  well,  the  large  trees,  the  shadow  of  a  comb,  —  at 
which  perhaps  you  are  laughing,  —  the  wagon,  the  old 
bridge,  the  low  cottages,  create  pleasure,  and  make  me 
happy.  A  valley  such  as  this,  with  a  brilliant  sun  above, 
always  pleases  me.  I  looked  around  and  enjoyed  the 
scene,  but  my  fellow-travellers  were  constantly  yawning. 
When  the  change  of  horses  takes  place,  everything 
amuses  me.  After  the  cracking  of  the  whip,  the  noise 
of  the  horses'  hoofs,  and  the  jingling  of  the  harness,  we 
stop  at  the  door  of  an  auberge.  A  white  hen  is  seen  on 
the  highway,  a  black  one  amongst  the  brambles ;  a 
harrow,  or  an  old  broken  wheel,  in  a  corner ;  and  chil- 
dren in  the  height  of  mirth,  with  comely  yet  far  from 
clean  faces,  playing  on  a  heap  of  sand.  Above  my  head, 
Charles  V.,  Joseph  II.,  or  Napoleon,  hangs  from  an  iron 
gallows  :  powerful  emperors  they  were ;  now  they  are 
only  fit  to  serve  as  signs  for  an  inn.     The  house  is  in 


THE  GENDARME  AND  THE  HUNCHBACIi.      5 

confusion  with  voices  giving  contradictory  orders  ;  on 
the  threshold  the  ostlers  and  kitchen-maids  are  busy- 
acting  pastorals,  the  dung-heap  makes  love  to  the  wash- 
tub,  and  as  for  myself  I  take  advantage  of  my  elevated 
position  on  the  top  of  the  coach  to  listen  to  the  gossip 
of  the  hunchback  and  the  gendarme,  and  admire  the 
pretty  little  colonies  of  dwarf-poppies  that  look  like 
oases  on  the  black  roof. 

Besides,  my  gendarme  and  hunchback  were  philoso- 
phers. There  was  no  pride  in  them ;  they  chatted 
familiarly  together,  —  the  former  without  disdaining  the 
hunchback,  the  latter  without  despising  the  gendarme. 
The  hunchback  paid  a  tax  of  six  francs  to  Jouarre,  the 
ancient  Jovis  ara,  which  he  explained  to  the  gendarme ; 
and  when  he  was  forced  to  give  a  sous  to  cross  the 
bridge  over  the  Marne,  he  became  enraged  with  the 
government.  The  gendarme  paid  no  taxes,  but  related 
his  story  with  naivete.  In  1814  he  fought  like  a  lion  at 
Montmirail;  he  was  then  a  consent.  In  1830,  in  the 
days  of  July,  he  took  fright  and  fled ;  he  was  then  a 
gendarme.  That  surprised  le  bossic,  but  it  did  not  aston- 
ish me.  Consent,  he  was  only  twenty  years  of  age,  poor 
and  brave ;  gendarme,  he  had  a  wife  and  children,  and  a 
horse  of  his  own, — he  played  the  coward.  The  same  man, 
nevertheless,  but  not  the  same  phase  in  life.  Life  is  a 
sort  of  meat,  which  sauce  alone  renders  palatable.  No 
one  is  more  dauntless  than  a  galley-slave.  In  this  world 
it  is  not  the  skin  that  is  prized ;  it  is  the  coat.  He  who 
has  nothing  is  fearless. 

We  must  also  admit  that  the  two  epochs  were  very 
different.     Whatever  is  in  vogue  acts  upon  the  soldier  as 


6  THE  RHINE. 

upon  all  mankind ;  for  the  idea  which  strikes  us  either 
stimulates  or  discourages.  In  1830  a  revolution  broke 
out.  The  soldier  felt  himself  under  a  load ;  he  was  cast 
down  in  spirits  by  the  force  of  contemplation,  which  is 
equal  to  the  force  of  circumstances ;  he  was  fighting  by 
the  order  of  a  stranger ;  fighting  for  shadows  created  by 
a  disordered  brain,  the  dream  of  a  distempered  mind,  — 
brother  against  brother,  all  France  against  the  Parisians. 
In  1814,  on  the  contrary,  the  conscrit  struggled  with  for- 
eign enemies  for  things  easily  comprehended,  —  for  him- 
self, for  his  father,  his  mother,  and  his  sisters ;  for  the 
plough  he  had  just  left ;  for  the  hut  which  he  saw  smok- 
ing in  the  distance ;  for  the  land  which  he  had  trod  in 
infancy ;  for  his  suffering  and  bleeding  country.  In  1830 
the  soldier  knew  not  what  he  was  fighting  for;  in  1814 
he  did  more  than  know  it,  he  felt  it ;  he  did  more  than 
feel  it,  he  saw  it. 

Three  things  very  much  interested  me  at  Meaux.  To 
the  right,  on  entering  the  town,  is  a  curious  gateway 
leading  to  an  old  church,  —  the  cathedral ;  and  behind  it 
an  old  habitation,  half  fortification,  and  flanked  with 
turrets.  There  is  also  a  court,  into  which  I  boldly 
entered,  where  I  perceived  an  old  woman  who  was 
busily  knitting.  The  good  dame  heeded  me  not,  thus 
affording  me  an  opportunity  of  studying  a  very  handsome 
staircase  of  stone  and  wood-work,  which,  supported  upon 
two  arches  and  crowned  by  a  neat  landing,  led  to  an  old 
dwelling.  I  had  not  time  to  take  a  sketch,  for  which  I 
am  sorry,  as  it  was  the  first  staircase  of  the  kind  I  had 
ever  seen ;  it  appeared  to  me  to  be  of  the  fifteenth 
century. 


MEAUX.  7 

The  cathedral  is  a  noble-looking  building ;  its  erection 
was  begun  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  continued  to 
the  fifteenth.  Several  repairs  have  lately  been  made,  but 
it  is  not  yet  finished ;  for  of  the  two  spires  projected  by 
the  architect,  one  only  is  completed;  the  other,  which 
has  been  begun,  is  hidden  under  a  covering  of  slate. 
The  middle  doorway  and  that  on  the  right  are  of  the 
fourteenth  century ;  the  one  on  the  left  is  of  the  fifteenth. 
They  are  all  very  handsome,  though  time  has  left  its 
impress  upon  their  venerable  appearance.  I  tried  to  de- 
cipher the  bas-reliefs.  The  pediment  of  the  left  doorway 
represents  the  history  of  John  the  Baptist ;  but  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  which  fell  full  on  the  ia,qa.de,  prevented  me 
from  satisfying  my  curiosity.  The  interior  of  the  church 
is  superb :  upon  the  choir  are  large  ogees,  and  at  its 
entry  two  beautiful  altars  of  the  fifteenth  century ;  but 
unfortunately,  in  the  true  taste  of  the  peasantry,  they  are 
daubed  over  with  yellow  oil-paintings. 

To  the  left  of  the  choir  I  saw  a  very  pretty  marble 
statue  of  a  warrier  of  the  sixteenth  century.  It  was  in  a 
kneeling  position,  without  armor,  and  had  no  inscription. 
Opposite  is  another;  but  this  one  bears  an  inscription, — 
and  much  it  requires  it,  to  be  able  to  discover  in  the 
hard  and  unmeaning  marble  the  stern  countenance  of 
Benigne  Bossuet.  I  saw  his  episcopal  throne,  which  is 
of  very  fine  wainscoting,  in  the  style  of  Louis  XIV. ;  but 
being  pressed  for  time,  I  was  not  able  to  visit  his  famed 
cabinet  at  the  bishop's. 

Here  is  a  strange  fact.  There  was  a  theatre  at  Meaux 
before  there  was  one  at  Paris,  which,  as  is  written  in  a 


8  THE  KHINE. 

local  manuscript,  was  constructed  in  1547.  Pieces  of  a 
mysterious  nature  were  represented.  A  man  of  the  name 
of  Pascalus  played  the  Devil,  and  afterwards  retained  the 
name.  In  1562  he  delivered  the  city  up  to  the  Hugue- 
nots ;  and  in  the  year  following  the  Catholics  hung  him, 
partly  because  he  had  delivered  up  the  city,  but  chiefly 
on  account  of  his  appellation,  "LeDiable."  At  present 
there  are  twenty  theatres  in  Paris,  but  there  is  not  a  single 
one  here.  It  is  said  that  the  good  people  of  Meaux  boast 
of  this ;  which  is,  to  be  proud  that  Meaux  is  not  Paris. 

This  country  abounds  with  the  age  of  Louis  XIV. : 
here,  the  Duke  of  Saint  Simon ;  at  Meaux,  Bossuet ;  at 
La  Perte-Milon,  Eacine ;  at  Chateau-Thierry,  La  Fontaine, 
—  all  within  a  range  of  twelve  miles.  The  great  seigneur 
is  neighbour  to  the  great  archbishop,  and  Tragedy  is 
elbowing  Fable, 

On  going  out  of  the  cathedral  I  found  that  the  sun  had 
hid  himself,  which  circumstance  enabled  me  to  examine 
the  facade.  The  pediment  of  the  central  doorway  is  the 
most  curious.  The  inferior  compartment  represents 
Jeanne,  wife  of  Philippe-le-Bel,  from  the  deniers  of  whom 
the  church  was  built  after  her  death.  The  Queen  of 
France,  her  cathedral  in  her  hand,  is  represented  at  the 
gates  of  Paradise ;  Saint  Peter  has  opened  the  folding- 
doors  to  her.  Behind  the  queen  is  the  handsome  King 
Philippe,  with  a  sad  and  rueful  countenance.  The  queen, 
who  is  gorgeously  attired  and  exceedingly  well  sculptured, 
points  out  to  Saint  Peter  the  jpauvre  diahle  of  a  king,  and 
with  a  sidelook  and  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  seems  to  say, — 

"Bah  !  allow  him  to  pass  into  the  bargain." 


CHAPTER  II. 

MONTMIRAIL.  —  MONTMORT.  —  EPERNAY. 

Montmirail  Castle.  —  Vaux  Champs.  —  The  Reconter  and  Reflections 
thereupon.  —  Montmort  Castle.  —  Mademoiselle  Jeannette.  —  The 
Churches  and  the  Curiosities  of  Epernay.  —  Anecdote  of  Strozzi 
and  Brisquet.  —  Henry  II. 's  Fool. 

I  HIRED  the  first  carriage  I  met  at  Eert^-sous-Jouarre, 
at  the  same  time  asking  one  question :  "  Are  the 
wheels  in  good  order  ? " 

On  being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  I  set  out  for 
Montmirail.  There  is  nothing  of  interest  in  this  little 
town,  except  a  pleasing  landscape  at  the  end  of  an  avenue, 
and  two  beautiful  walks  bordered  with  trees ;  all  the 
buildings,  the  chdteau  excepted,  have  a  paltry  and  mean 
appearance. 

On  Monday,  about  five  o'clock  in  the  evening,  I  left 
Montmirail,  and  directing  may  way  towards  Epernay, 
was  an  hour  afterwards  at  Vaux-Champs.  A  few 
moments  before  crossing  the  far-famed  field  of  battle,  I 
met  a  cart  rather  strangely  laden ;  it  was  drawn  by  a 
horse  and  an  ass,  and  contained  pans,  kettles,  old  trunks, 
straw-bottomed  chairs,  with  a  heap  of  old  furniture.  In 
front,  in  a  sort  of  basket,  were  three  children,  almost  in  a 
state  of  nudity ;  behind,  in  another,  were  several  hens. 
The  driver  wore  a  blouse,  was  walking,  and  carried  a  child 


10  THE  RHINE. 

on  his  back ;  a  few  steps  from  him  was  a  woman,  bearing 
a  child  in  her  arms.  They  were  all  hastening  towards 
Montmirail,  as  if  the  great  battle  of  1814  were  on  the  eve 
of  being  fought. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  twenty -five  years  ago,  how 
many  poor  families  were  seen  flying  from  place  to 
place  ! " 

I  was  informed,  however,  that  it  was  not  a  removal,  — 
it  was  an  expatriation.  It  was  not  to  Montmirail  they 
were  going,  —  it  was  to  America ;  they  were  not  flying  at 
the  sound  of  the  trumpet  of  war,  —  they  were  hurrying 
from  misery  and  starvation.  In  a  word,  my  dear  friend, 
it  was  a  family  of  poor  Alsacian  peasants  who  were  emi- 
grating. They  could  not  obtain  a  living  in  their  native 
land,  but  had  been  promised  one  in  Ohio.  They  were 
leaving  their  country,  ignorant  of  the  sublime  and  beauti- 
ful verses  that  Virgil  had  written  upon  them  two  thousand 
years  ago. 

These  poor  people  were  travelling  in  seeming  cheerful- 
ness, —  the  husband  was  making  a  thong  for  his  whip, 
the  wife  was  singing,  and  the  children  playing.  The 
furniture,  however,  had  something  about  it  of  wretched- 
ness and  of  disorder  which  caused  pain ;  the  hens  even 
appeared  to  me  to  feel  their  sad  condition. 

The  indifference  of  the  heads  of  the  family  astonished 
me.  I  really  thought  that,  in  leaving  the  country  in 
which  we  first  see  light,  which  links  our  hearts  to  so 
many  sweet  associations,  we  should,  on  taking  a  last 
look,  shed  a  tear  to  the  memory  of  the  scenes  of  our  child- 
hood,   to   the    land   which    contained    the    mouldering 


THE  EMIGRANTS.  11 

ashes  of  our  forefathers.  But  these  people  seemed  regard- 
less of  all  this ;  their  minds  were  set  upon  the  country  in 
which  they  hoped  to  obtain  a  livelihood. 

I  looked  after  them  for  some  time.  Where  was  that 
jolting  and  tumbling  group  going  ?  — ay,  and  where  am 
I  going  ?  They  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  disap- 
peared; for  some  time  I  heard  the  cracking  of  the  whip 
and  the  song  of  the  woman,  then  all  was  quiet.  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  I  was  in  the  glorious  plains  where 
the  emperor  had  once  been.  The  sun  was  setting,  the 
trees  were  casting  their  long  shadows,  the  furrows  which 
could  be  traced  here  and  there  had  a  lightish  appearance, 
a  bluish  mist  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  the  fields 
seemed  deserted;  nothing  could  be  seen  but  two  or  three 
plows  in  the  distance,  which  appeared  to  the  eye  like 
huge  grasshoppers.  To  my  left  was  a  stone-quarry,  where 
there  were  large  millstones,  some  white  and  new,  others 
old  and  blackened  :  here,  were  some  lying  pell-mell  on 
the  ground ;  there,  a  few  standing  erect,  like  the  men  of 
an  enormous  draught-board  when  upset. 

I  determined  upon  seeing  the  castle  of  Montmort, 
which  was  about  four  leagues  from  Montmirail ;  I  took 
the  Epernay  road.  There  are  sixteen  tall  elms,  perhaps 
the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  whose  foliage  hangs 
over  the  road  and  rustles  above  the  head  of  the  passenger. 
In  travelling,  there  is  no  tree  pleases  me  so  much  as  the 
elm ;  it  alone  appears  fantastical,  and  laughs  at  its  neigh- 
bour, overturning  all  as  it  bends  its  head,  and  making  all 
kinds  of  grimaces  to  the  passers-by  in  the  evening.  The 
foliage  of  the  young  elm  may  be  said  to  spring  forth  when 


12  THE   RHINE. 

your  eyes  are  fixed  upon  it.  From  Ferte  to  the  place 
where  the  sixteen  elms  are  seen,  the  road  is  bordered  only 
with  poplars,  aspeus,  and  walnut-trees,  which  circum- 
stance did  not  at  all  please  me. 

The  country  is  ilat,  the  plain  extending  far  beyond  the 
range  of  the  eye.  Suddenly,  on  leaving  a  group  of  trees, 
we  see  on  the  right,  half  hidden  in  a  declivity,  a  number 
of  turrets,  weather-cocks,  and  housetops ;  it  is  the  castle 
of  Montmort. 

My  cabriolet  stopped,  and  I  alighted  before  the  door  of 
the  castle.  It  is  an  exquisite  fortress  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  built  of  brick,  with  slate-work ;  it  has  a  double 
enciente,  a  moat,  a  three-arched  bridge,  and  a  village  at  its 
foot.  All  around  is  pleasant,  and  the  castle  commands  a 
most  extensive  view.  It  has  a  winding  staircase  for  men, 
and  a  rampe  for  horses.  Below,  there  is  also  an  old  iron 
door,  which  leads  to  the  embrasures  of  the  tower,  where 
I  saw  four  small  engines  of  the  fifteenth  century.  The 
garrison  of  the  fortress  at  present  consists  of  an  old  ser- 
vant. Mademoiselle  Jeannette,  who  received  me  with  the 
greatest  civility.  Of  the  apartments  of  the  interior,  there 
only  remain  a  kitchen,  a  very  fine  vaulted  room  with  a 
large  mantelpiece,  the  great  hall  (which  is  now  made  a 
billiard-room),  and  a  charming  little  cabinet,  with  gilt 
wainscotting.  The  great  hall  is  a  magnificent  chamber : 
the  ceiling,  with  its  beams  painted,  gilded,  and  sculp- 
tured, is  still  entire ;  the  mantelpiece,  surmounted  by  two 
noble-looking  statues,  is  of  the  finest  style  of  Henry  III. 
The  walls  were  in  former  times  covered  with  vast  squares 
of  tapestry,  on  which  were  the  portraits  of  the  family. 


EPERNAY.  13 

At  the  revolution  a  few  daring  individuals  of  the  neigh- 
bouring village  tore  down  the  tapestries  and  burned 
them,  which  was  a  fatal  blow  to  feudalism ;  the  proprietor 
replaced  them  with  old  engravings,  representing  views  of 
Eome  and  of  the  battles  of  the  great  Condd.  On  leaving, 
I  gave  thirty  sous  to  Mademoiselle  Jeannette,  who  was 
bewildered  with  my  bounty. 

Night  was  coming  on  when  I  left  Montmort.  The 
road  is  one  of  the  most  detestable  in  the  world.  It  leads 
into  a  wood  which  I  entered,  and  consequently  I  saw 
nothing  of  Epernay  but  colliers'  huts,  the  smoke  of  which 
was  forcing  its  way  among  the  branches  of  the  trees ;  the 
red  mouth  of  a  distant  furnace  appeared  for  a  few 
moments,  and  the  whistling  wind  agitated  the  leaves 
around.  Above  my  head,  in  the  heavens,  the  splendid 
chariot  was  making  its  voyage  in  the  midst  of  stars, 
while  my  poor  jpatache  was  jogging  along  among 
pebbles. 

Epernay:  yes,  it  is  the  town  for  Champagne,  — 
nothing  more,  nothing  less. 

Three  churches  have  succeeded  each  other:  the  first, 
a  Eoman  church,  was  built  in  1037,  by  Thibaut  I., 
Count  of  Champagne,  and  son  of  Eudes ;  the  second,  a 
church  of  the  Kenaissance,  was  built  in  1540,  by  Pierre 
Strozzi,  Marshal  of  France,  Seigneur  d'Epernay,  who  was 
killed  at  the  seige  of  Thionville,  in  1558  ;  the  third,  the 
present  one,  appeared  to  me  to  be  built  from  the  design 
of  M.  Poterlet-Galichet,  a  worthy  merchant,  whose 
shop  and  name  are  close  to  the  church.  AH  three  are 
admirably  described  and  summed  up  by  these  names; 


14  THE   RHINE. 

Thibaut  I.,  Count  of  Champagne ;  Pierre  Strozzi,  Marshal 
of  France  ;  and  Poterlet-Galichet,  grocer. 

To  tell  you  the  truth,  the  last-mentioned  church  is  a 
hideous  building,  plastered  white,  and  has  a  heavy 
appearance,  with  triglyphs  supporting  the  architrave. 
There  is  nothing  left  of  the  first  church ;  and  of  the 
second,  but  a  few  large  stained  windows  and  an  exquisite 
faqade.  One  of  the  windows  gives  the  history  of  Noah 
with  great  naivete.  The  window-frames  and  facade  are 
daubed  with  the  hideous  plaster  of  the  new  church.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  I  saw  Odry,  with  his  short  white 
trousers,  his  blue  stockings,  and  his  large  shirt-collar, 
carrying  the  casque  and  cuirass  of  Francis  I. 

They  wished  to  show  me  the  curiosity  of  the  country, 
—  a  great  wine-cellar,  which  contains  one  hundred  thou- 
sand bottles.  On  my  way  I  came  in  sight  of  a  field  of 
turnips,  where  poppies  were  in  flower,  and  butterflies 
sporting  in  the  rays  of  the  sun.  I  went  no  further ;  the 
great  cave  could  well  spare  my  visit. 

The  pomatum  for  restoring  the  hair,  which  is  called  at 
La  Fertd  "  Pilog^ne,"  at  Epernay  is  called  "  Phyothrix,"  a 
Greek  importation.  By  the  way,  at  Montmirail,  I  had  to 
pay  forty  sous  for  four  fresh  eggs ;  it  struck  me  as  rather 
high. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  Thibaut  I.  was  interred  in  his 
church,  and  Strozzi  in  his ;  however,  I  should  decidedly 
disapprove  of  M.  Poterlet-Galichet  having  a  place  in  the 
present  one. 

Strozzi  was  rather  what  may  be  termed  a  hrave  man. 
Brisquet,  the  fool  of  Henry  II.,  amusing  himself  one  day. 


STROZZI  AND  BRISQUET.  15 

greased,  before  the  whole  court,  a  very  handsome  cloak 
that  the  marshal  had  put  on  for  the  first  time.  This 
excited  much  laughter,  and  Strozzi  resorted  to  a  most 
cruel  revenge.  For  me,  I  would  not  have  laughed,  nor 
would  I  have  avenged  myself.  To  bedaub  a  velvet  coat 
with  grease,  —  I  have  never  been  over-delighted  with 
this  pleasantry  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


CHAPTEE  III. 

VARENNES.  —  CHALONS.  —  SAINTE  MENEHOULD. 

The  Reverie.  —  The  Arrest  of  Louis  XVI.  —  The  Salutation  and  its 
Effects.  —  Notre  Dame  at  Chalons.  —  Antiquarian  Forgetfulness.  — 
The  Inscription.  —  Watchman,  Wife,  and  Gnome  Son.  —  Abbey  of 
Notre  Dame  de  I'Epine.  —  Storm.  —  Metz  Hotel.  —  Sleeping  Canary. 
—  Host  and  Hostess.  —  Champagne  and  the  Signification  of  Champe- 
nois.  —  Madame  Sabliere  and  La  Fontaine. 

YESTERDAY,  at  the  decline  of  day,  while  my  cabri- 
olet was  rapidly  rolling  by  Sainte  Menehould,  I 
was  reading  these  sublime  and  beautiful  lines,  — 

"  Mugitusque  bovum  mollesque  sub  arbore  somni. 

Speluncae  vivique  lacus." 

For  some  time  I  rested  my  hand  upon  my  book,  with 
a  soul  full  of  those  vague  ideas,  sad  yet  sweet,  which 
the  rays  of  a  setting  sun  generally  awaken  in  my  mind, 
when  the  noise  of  the  carriage-wheels  on  the  causeway 
awoke  me  from  my  reverie.  We  were  entering  a  town ; 
but  what  town  was  it  ?  The  coachman's  reply  was, 
"  Varennes."  "We  traversed  a  street  which  had  something 
grave  and  melancholy  in  its  appearance;  the  doors  and 
shutters  of  the  houses  were  closed,  and  grass  was  grow- 
ing in  the  courts.  Suddenly,  after  having  passed  an  old 
gateway  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIIL,  we  entered  a  square 
surrounded  with  small  white  houses,  of  one  story  high. 
Louis  XVI.,  on  his  flight  in  1791,  was  arrested  in  this 


VARENNES.  17 

square  by  Drouet,  the  postmaster  of  Sainte  Menehould. 
There  was  then  no  post  at  Varennes.  I  descended  from 
my  carriage,  and  for  some  time  kept  looking  at  this  little 
square,  which,  to  the  man  who  does  not  think  of  past 
events,  has  a  dull  appearance ;  but  to  him  who  does,  it 
has  a  sinister  one.  It  is  reported  here  that  Louis,  when 
arrested,  protested  so  strongly  that  he  was  not  the  king 
(what  Charles  I.  would  never  have  done),  that  the  people, 
half  inclined  to  credit  his  statement,  were  about  to  re- 
lease him,  when  a  Monsieur  Ethd,  who  had  a  secret 
hatred  against  the  court,  appeared.  This  person,  like  a 
Judas  Iscariot,  said  to  the  king,  — 

"  Good-day,  sire." 

This  was  enough  ;  the  king  was  seized.  There  were 
five  of  the  royal  family  in  the  carriage  with  him;  and 
the  iniseraUe,  with  these  words,  effected  their  downfall 

"  Bon  jour,  sire  "  was  for  Louis  XVI.,  for  Marie  Antoi- 
nette, and  for  Madame  Elizabeth,  the  guillotine ;  for  the 
dauphin,  the  torture  of  the  Temple  ;  and  for  Madame 
Royale,  exile  and  the  extermination  of  her  race. 

I  have  already  observed  to  you,  if  I  do  not  mistake, 
that  material  nature  often  exhibits  singular  symbolisms. 
Louis  was  descending  a  rapid  and  dangerous  slope  at  the 
moment  of  his  arrest,  where  the  leading  horse  of  my  own 
carriage  was  nearly  falling.  Five  days  ago  I  saw  some- 
thing like  a  giant's  draught-board  on  the  battle-ground 
of  Montmirail.  To-day  I  cross  the  fatal  little  square  of 
Varennes,  which  has  the  form  of  the  knife  of  the  guillo- 
tine. The  man  who  aided  Drouet,  and  seized  Louis  XVL 
there,  was  named  Billaud.     Why  not  Billot  ? 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  2 


18  THE  RHINE. 

Varennes  is  about  fifteen  leagues  from  Rheims,  —  that 
is  to  say,  for  my  coachman ;  to  the  mind  there  is  an 
abyss,  —  the  Revolution. 

I  put  up  for  the  night  at  a  very  ancient-looking  au- 
herge,  which  had  the  portrait  of  Louis  Philippe  above 
the  door,  with  the  words  inscribed,  — 

"  Au  Grand  MonarcLue." 

During  the  last  hundred  years,  Louis  XV.,  Buonaparte, 
and  Charles  X.,  had  each  figured  in  his  turn.  Louis  XVI. 
was,  perhaps,  arrested  at  the  Grand  Monarque,  and,  on 
looking  up,  saw  the  portrait  of  himself,  —  jpauvre  grand 
monarque  ! 

This  morning  I  took  a  walk  into  the  town,  which  is 
pleasantly  situated  on  the  banks  of  a  pretty  river.  The 
old  houses  of  the  high  town,  seen  from  the  right  bank, 
form  a  very  picturesque  amphitheatre ;  but  the  church, 
which  is  in  the  low  town,  is  truly  insignificant.  It  is 
within  sight  of  my  inn,  and  I  can  see  it  from  the  table 
at  which  I  write.  The  steeple  is  dated  1766.  It  was 
two  years  older  than  Madame  Royale. 

This  sombre  adventure  has  left  some  trace  here, —  a  rare 
thing  in  France.  The  people  still  speak  of  it.  The  inn- 
keeper informed  me  that  a  gentleman  of  the  town  had 
written  a  comedy  on  it.  This  recalls  to  my  mind  that,  on 
the  night  of  the  escape,  when  they  were  disguising  the 
dauphin  as  a  girl,  he  asked  Madame  Royale  if  they  were 
going  to  act  a  comedy.  This  was  the  play  the  "  gentleman 
of  the  town  "  had  composed. 

I  owe  an  apology  to  the  church,  which  I  have  just 


THE  CATHEDRAL.  19 

visited,  for  the  portal  on  the  right  is  rather  pretty.  If 
my  architectural  descriptions  do  not  weary  you,  you  must 
permit  me  to  say  that  Chalons  has  not  quite  answered 
to  my  expectations, — at  least  the  cathedral  has  not.  Nei- 
ther is  the  road  from  Epernay  to  Chalons  as  fine  as  I  fan- 
cied it  might  be.  You  get  an  occasional  glimpse  of  the 
Marne,  on  the  banks  of  which  are  two  or  three  pointed 
spires  like  the  steeple  of  Fecamp ;  but  all  the  country 
consists  of  plainSr  —  nothing  but  plains.  It  is,  of  course, 
very  beautiful,  —  too  beautiful,  in  fact.  The  sameness  is 
somewhat  varied  by  numerous  flocks  of  sheep  and  their 
shepherds. 

The  exterior  of  the  cathedral  is  noble,  and  there 
still  remains  some  rich  stained  glass,  —  a  rose  window 
especially.  I  saw  in  the  church  a  charming  chapel 
of  the  Eenaissance,  with  the  F  and  the  salamander. 
Outside  the  church  there  is  a  Eoman  tower  in  the 
severest  and  purest  style,  and  a  delicious  portal  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  But  the  dilapidations  are  hide- 
ous. The  church  is  filthy ;  the  sculptures  of  Francis  I. 
are  covered  with  yellow  paint,  and  the  graining  is 
daubed  over  also.  The  faqade  is  a  poor  imitation  of 
our  facade  of  Saint-Germain ;  but  the  spires  !  I  had 
been  promised  open-worked  steeples.  I  counted  on 
these  steeples.  I  found  two ;  but  they  had  heavy  pointed 
caps  of  stone,  —  open-worked,  if  you  will,  and  original 
enough  for  that  matter,  but  heavily  moulded,  and  with 
volutes  intermingled  with  ogives  !  I  went  away  terribly 
disappointed. 

I  visited  the  church,  and  if  I  did  not  find  all  I  ex- 


20  THE   RHINE. 

pected,  I  found  what  I  did  not  expect,  —  that  is,  a  very 
pretty  Notre  Dame  at  Chalons.  What  have  the  anti- 
quaries been  thinking  of  when,  speaking  of  Sainte-Etienne, 
they  never  breathed  a  word  about  Notre  Dame  ?  The 
Notre  Dame  of  Chalons  is  a  Eoman  church,  with  arched 
roofs  and  a  superb  spire,  bearing  the  date  of  the  four- 
teenth century.  In  the  middle  is  a  lantern  crowned  with 
small  pinions.  A  beautiful  coup  d'ceil  is  afforded  here 
(a  pleasure  which  I  enjoyed)  of  the  town,  the  Marne,  and 
the  surrounding  hills.  The  traveller  may  also  admire 
the  splendid  windows  of  Notre  Dame,  and  a  rich  portail 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  In  1793  the  people  of  this 
place  broke  the  windows  and  pulled  down  the  statues ; 
they  also  destroyed  the  lateral  gateway  of  the  cathedral, 
and  all  the  sculpture  that  was  within  their  reach.  Notre 
Dame  had  four  spires,  three  of  which  are  demolished, 
testifying  the  height  of  stupidity,  which  is  nowhere  so 
evident  as  here.  The  French  Eevolution  was  a  terrible 
one ;  the  revolution  Champenoise  was  attended  with  acts 
of  the  greatest  folly. 

On  the  lantern  I  found  engraved  the  inscription,  appar- 
ently in  the  writing  of  the  sixteenth  century,  — 

"  Le  28  Aout,  1508,  la  paix  a  et6  publiee  k  Chal  —  " 

This  inscription,  which  is  partly  defaced,  and  which 
no  one  has  sought  to  decipher,  is  all  that  remains  of  that 
great  political  act,  —  the  conclusion  of  peace  between 
Henry  III.  and  the  Huguenots  by  the  intercession  of  the 
Duke  of  Anjou,  previously  the  Duke  of  Alen(^on.  The 
Duke  of  Anjou  was  the  king's  brother,  and  had  an  eye 


CHALONS.  21 

upon  the  Pays  Bas,  and  pretensions  to  the  hand  of 
Elizabeth  of  England ;  but  the  war  with  the  religious 
sects  which  succeeded  thwarted  him  in  his  plans.  The 
peace,  that  happy  event,  proclaimed  at  Chalons  in  1580, 
was  forgo,tten  by  the  whole  world  on  the  2  2d  of  July, 
1839. 

The  person  who  conducted  me  to  this  lantern  was  the 
watchman  of  the  town,  who  passed  his  life  in  the  gucttc, 
—  a  little  box  with  four  small  windows.  His  box  and 
ladder  are  to  him  a  universe ;  he  is  the  eye  of  the  town, 
always  open,  always  awake.  Perpetual  insomnia  would 
be  somewhat  impossible.  True,  his  wife  helps  him. 
Every  night  at  twelve  o'clock  he  goes  to  sleep  and  she 
goes  to  watch ;  at  noon  they  again  change  places,  thus 
performing  their  rounds  at  each  other's  side  without 
coming  in  contact,  except  for  a  minute  at  noon  and 
another  at  midnight.  A  little  gnome,  rather  comically 
shaped,  whom  they  call  their  son,  is  the  result  of  the 
tangent. 

There  are  three  churches  at  Chalons,  —  Saint  Alpin, 
Saint  Jean,  and  Saint  Loup. 

About  two  leagues  from  Chalons,  upon  the  Sainte 
Menehould  road,  the  magnificent  Abbey  of  Notre  Dame  de 
I'Epine  suddenly  presents  itself.  It  has  a  real  steeple  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  as  open  as  a  piece  of  lace  and  as 
admirable,  although  flanked  by  a  telegraph  which  it 
looks  down  on,  disdainfully,  as  a  great  lady  might  do.  It 
is  strangely  surprising  to  come  on  such  a  magnificent 
structure  of  Gothic  architecture  in  such  a  wilderness,  — 
a  wilderness  that  barely  feeds   a  few  wild  poppies.     I 


22  THE  EHINE. 

spent  two  hours  in  this  church,  and  roamed  about  in 
spite  of  a  hurricane  that  made  the  bells  vibrate  distinctly. 
I  held  my  hat  in  my  two  hands,  and  admired  while 
whirlwinds  of  dust  were  driving  at  my  eyes.  From  time 
to  time  a  stone  detached  itself  from  the  steeple  and  fell 
close  beside  me  in  the  cemetery.  There  are  a  thousand 
details  worthy  of  being  painted.  The  gargoyles  are 
peculiarly  complicated  and  curious.  They  are  in  general 
composed  of  two  monsters,  one  borne  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  other.  Those  of  the  apsis  would  appear  to  repre- 
sent the  Seven  Deadly  Sins.  Lust,  —  a  pretty  peasant, 
with  her  petticoat  raised  quite  too  high, —  must  have 
scandalized  the  poor  monks. 

There  are  at  most  three  or  four  cabins  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, and  it  would  be  rather  hard  to  explain  how 
this  cathedral  without  a  town,  village,  or  hamlet  near 
it,  had  come  into  existence,  if  I  had  not  discovered  in  a 
chapel  carefully  padlocked  a  very  deep  little  well.  This 
is  a  miraculous  well,  very  humble  and  simple,  and  quite 
like  any  other  village  well,  as  a  miraculous  well  ought 
to  be.  The  well  produced  the  church,  as  a  bulb  produces 
a  tulip. 

I  continued  my  route,  and  after  travelling  three  miles 
came  to  a  village  where  the  inhabitants  were  celebrating, 
with  music  and  dancing,  the  fete  of  the  place.  On  leav- 
ing, I  perceived,  on  the  summit  of  a  hill,  a  mean-looking 
white  house  upon  the  top  of  which  was  a  telescope, 
shaped  like  an  enormous  black  insect,  corresponding 
with  Notre  Dame  de  I'Epine, 

The  sun  was  setting,  the  twilight  approaching,  and  the 


A  STORM.  23 

sky  cloudy  ;  from  the  plain  I  looked  at  the  hills,  which 
were  half  covered  with  heath,  like  a  camail  d'  eveque, 
and  on  turning  my  head,  saw  a  tiock  of  geese  that  were 
cackling  joyously. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  rain,"  the  coachman  said. 

I  looked  up.  The  half  of  the  western  sky  was  shrouded 
in  an  immense  black  cloud ;  the  wind  became  boisterous  ; 
the  hemlock  in  flower  was  levelled  with  the  ground  ; 
and  the  trees  seemed  to  speak  in  a  voice  of  terror.  A  few 
moments  expired  ;  the  rain  poured  down  in  torrents,  and 
all  was  darkness,  save  a  beam  of  light  which  escaped  from 
the  declining  sun.  There  was  not  a  creature  to  be  heard 
or  seen,  —  neither  man  upon  the  road  nor  bird  in  the 
air.  Loud  peals  of  thunder  shook  the  heavens,  and 
brilliant  flashes  of  lightning  contrasted  wildly  with  the 
prevailing  darkness. 

A  blast  of  wind  at  length  dispersed  the  clouds  towards 
the  east,  and  the  sky  became  pure  and  calm. 

On  arriving  at  Sainte  Menehould  the  stars  were  shin- 
ing brightly.  This  is  a  picturesque  little  town,  with  its 
houses  built  at  random  upon  the  summit  of  a  green  hill, 
and  surmounted  by  tall  trees.  I  saw  one  thing  worthy 
of  remark  at  Sainte  Menehould,  —  that  is,  the  kitchen  at 
the  hotel  of  Metz.  It  may  well  be  termed  a  kitchen  ; 
one  of  the  walls  is  covered  with  pans,  the  other  with 
crockery ;  in  the  middle,  opposite  the  window,  is  a 
splendid  fire  and  an  enormous  chimney.  All  kinds  of 
baskets  and  lamps  hang  from  the  ceiling ;  by  the  chimney 
are  the  jacks,  spits,  pot-hangers,  kettles,  and  pans  of  all 
forms  and  sizes  ;  the  shining  hearth  reflects  light  in  all 


24  THE  EHINE. 

corners  of  the  room,  throwing  a  rosy  hue  on  the  crockery, 
causing  the  edifice  of  copper  to  shine  like  a  wall  of  brass, 
while  the  ceiling  is  crowded  with  fantastic  shadows.  If 
I  were  a  Homer  or  a  Rabelais,  I  would  say,  — 

"  That  kitchen  is  a  world,  and  the  fireplace  is  its  sun." 

It  is  indeed  a  world,  a  republic,  consisting  of  men, 
women,  and  children  ;  male  and  female  servants,  scullions, 
and  waiters  ;  frying-pans  over  chafing  dishes,  bounded  by 
pots  and  kettles  ;  children  playing,  cats  and  dogs  mewing 
and  barking,  with  the  master  overlooking  all,  —  mens 
agit  at  molem.  In  a  corner  is  a  clock,  which  gravely 
warns  the  occupants  that  time  is  ever  on  the  wing. 

Among  the  innumerable  things  which  hung  from  the 
ceiling,  there  was  one  that  interested  me  more  than  all 
the  others,  —  a  small  cage,  in  which  a  canary  was  sleep- 
ing. The  poor  creature  seemed  to  me  to  be  a  most 
admirable  emblem  of  confidence ;  notwithstanding  the 
unwholesomeness  of  the  den,  the  furnace,  the  frightful 
kitchen,  which  is  day  and  night  filled  with  uproar,  the 
bird  sleeps.  A  noise,  indeed,  is  made  around  it,  —  the 
men  swear,  the  women  quarrel,  the  children  cry,  the  dogs 
bark,  the  cats  mew,  the  clock  strikes,  the  water-cock 
spouts,  the  bottles  burst,  the  diligences  pass  under  the 
arched  roof,  making  a  noice  like  thunder,  yet  the  eye- 
lid of  the  feathered  inhabitant  moves  not. 

Apropos,  I  must  declare  that  people  generally  speak  too 
harshly  of  inns,  and  I  myself  have  often  been  the  first  to 
do  so.  An  auherge,  take  it  all  in  all,  is  a  very  good  thing, 
and  we  are  often  very  glad  to  find  one.     Besides,  I  have 


CLERMONT.  25 

often  remarked  that  there  is  in  almost  all  auberges  an 
agreeable  landlady  ;  as  for  the  host,  let  turbulent  travellers 
have  him,  —  give  me  the  hostess.  The  former  is  a  being 
of  a  morose  and  disagreeable  nature,  the  latter  cheerful 
and  amiable.  Poor  woman  !  sometimes  she  is  old,  some- 
times in  bad  health,  and  very  often  exceedingly  bulky. 
She  comes  and  goes,  is  here  and  there, —  this  moment  at 
the  heels  of  the  servants,  the  next  one  chasing  the  dogs ; 
she  compliments  the  travellers,  frowns  at  the  head  ser- 
vant ;  smiles  to  one,  scolds  another ;  stirs  the  lire  ;  takes 
up  this  and  sends  away  that ;  in  fact,  she  is  the  soul  of 
that  great  body  called  an  auherge,  the  host  being  fit  for 
nothing  but  drinking  in  a  corner  with  wagoners.  The 
fair  hostess  of  La  Ville  de  Metz,  at  Sainte  Menehould, 
is  a  young  woman  about  sixteen  years  of  age,  is  exceed- 
ingly active,  and  she  conducts  her  household  affairs 
with  the  greatest  regularity  and  precision.  The  host, 
her  father,  is  an  exception  to  the  general  run  of 
inn-keepers,  being  a  very  intelligent  and  worthy  man ;  in 
all,  this  is  an  excellent  auherge. 

I  left  Sainte  Menehould,  and  pursued  my  way  to  Cler- 
mont. The  road  between  those  two  towns  is  charming  ;  on 
both  sides  is  a  forest  of  trees,  whose  green  leaves  glitter  in 
the  sun,  and  cast  their  detatched  and  irregular  shadows  on 
the  highway.  The  villages  have  something  about  them 
of  a  Swiss  and  German  appearance,  — white  stone  houses, 
with  large  slate  roofs  projecting  three  or  four  feet  from 
the  wall.  I  felt  that  I  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
mountains  ;  the  Ardennes,  in  fact,  are  here. 

Before   arriving  at  Clermont   we   pass   an   admirable 


26  THE  KHINE. 

valley,  where  the  Marne  and  the  Meuse  meet.  The  road 
is  betwixt  two  hills,  and  is  so  steep  that  we  see  nothing 
before  us  but  an  abyss  of  foliage, 

Clermont  is  a  very  handsome  village,  headed  by  a 
church,  and  surrounded  with  verdure.  Then  the  road 
turns  and  the  whole  valley  is  presented  to  view.  It  is 
surrounded  by  a  vast  circle  of  hills,  in  the  midst  of 
which  is  a  beautiful  and  almost  Italian  village,  so  flat  are 
the  roofs.  To  the  right  and  left  are  several  other  villages 
perched  on  woody  heights,  while  belfries  are  seen  through 
the  fog,  —  a  sign  that  other  villages  are  hidden  in  the 
folds  of  the  valley  as  in  a  robe  of  green  velvet,  and  great 
herds  of  oxen  pasture  on  the  broad  meadows.  Through 
it  all  a  pretty  stream  ripples  joyously.  I  spent  an  hour 
crossing  this  valley.  During  the  time  a  telegraph  at  the 
end  was  figuring  these  three  signs, — 

n  s  A 

While  the  machine  was  doing  this,  the  trees  were  rustling, 
the  cattle  lowing  and  bleating,  the  sun  was  beaming  over 
the  whole  heavens,  and  I  was  comparing  man  to  God, 

Clermont  is  a  beautiful  village,  situated  above  a  sea  of 
verdure,  with  its  church  above  its  head,  just  as  Trdport  is 
above  a  sea  of  waves.  Turning  to  the  left  from  the 
middle  of  Clermont,  the  traveller  in  two  hours  reaches 
Varennes  through  a  lovely  country  of  plains  and  hills 
and  streams.  This  was  the  charming  road  Louis  XVI. 
followed  to  his  ruin. 

I  find  that  I  have  made  use  of  the  word  Champenois, 
which,    by    some   proverbial   acceptation,    is    somewhat 


CHAMPAGNE.  27 

ironical ;  you  must  not  mistake  the  sense  which  I  affix  to 
it.  The  proverb  —  more  famiHar,  perhaps,  than  it  is 
applicable  —  speaks  of  Champagne  as  Madame  la  Sablifere 
spoke  of  La  Fontaine,  —  "  That  he  was  a  man  of  stupid 
genius,"  which  expression  is  applied  to  a  genius  of 
Champagne.  That,  however,  neither  prevents  La  Fon- 
taine from  being  an  admirable  poet,  nor  Champagne  from 
being  a  noble  and  illustrious  country.  Virgil  might 
have  spoken  of  it  as  he  did  of  Italy, — 

"  Alma  parens  frugum, 
Alma  virum." 

Champagne  is  the  birthplace,  the  country,  of  Amyot, 
that  honhomme  who  took  up  the  theme  of  Plutarch,  as  La 
Fontaine  did  that  of  ^sop ;  of  Thibaut  IV.,  who  boasted 
of  nothing  more  than  being  the  father  of  Saint  Louis ;  of 
Charlier  de  Gerson,  who  was  chancellor  of  the  university 
of  Paris ;  of  Amadis,  Jamyn,  Colbert,  Diderot ;  of  two 
painters,  —  Lantare  and  Valentin  ;  of  two  sculptors,  — 
Girardon  and  Bouchardon  ;  of  two  historians,  —  Flodoard 
and  Mabillon  ;  of  two  cardinals  full  of  genius,  —  Henri 
de  Lorraine  and  Paul  de  Gondi :  of  two  popes  full  of 
virtue,  —  Martin  IV.  and  Urban  IV.  ;  of  a  king  full  of 
glory,  —  Philippe- Auguste. 

People  who  hold  to  proverbs  and  translate  Suzanne  by 
sexdecim  asini,  as  thirty  years  ago  they  translated  Fon- 
tanes  by  faciunt  asinos,  will  be  glad  to  learn  that 
Champagne  has  given  birth  to  Richelet,  the  author  of 
the  "  Dictionnaire  des  Eimes,"  and  to  Poinsinet,  the  most 
mystified  man  of  an  age  in  which  Voltaire  mystified  the 


28  THE   RHINE. 

world.  Well,  then,  will  you,  who  love  harmonies,  who 
believe  that  the  character,  the  work,  and  the  mind  of  a 
man  are  natural  products  of  his  country,  regarding  it  as 
proper  that  Bonaparte  should  be  a  Corsican,  Mazarin  an 
Italian,  and  Henri  IV.  a  gascon,  —  will  you  listen  to  this  ? 
Mirabeau  was  almost  a  native  of  Champagne,  Danton 
entirely  so.  What  conclusion  do  you  draw  from  that  ? 
And,  gracious  heavens  !  why  should  not  Danton  be  a 
Champagnese  ?     Was  not  Vaugelas  a  Savoyard  ? 

The  great  Fabert,  that  illustrious  marshal  of  France, 
was  also  a  native  of  Champagne.  He  was  the  son  of  a 
bookseller  and  a  man  who  never  wished  to  rise  too  high 
or  sink  too  low,  —  a  pure  and  serious  spirit  that  kept 
carefully  within  the  limits  of  the  success  which  had 
come  to  him.  Tried  successively  by  destiny,  —  first,  in  his 
rank,  then  in  his  modesty,  —  he  was  always  the  same  in 
presence  of  the  humiliations  he  encountered  as  he  was 
in  presence  of  the  vain  honours  within  his  reach,  neither 
rejecting  the  humiliations  from  pride  or  the  honours  from 
a  sense  of  unworthiness,  but  repudiating  both  from 
purity.  He  refused  to  be  the  spy  of  Mazarin,  and  to 
accept  the  blue  ribbon  at  the  hands  of  Louis  XIV. 
He  said  to  Louis  XIV.,  "I  am  a  soldier;  I  am  not  a 
gentilhomme."  He  said  to  Mazarin,  "  I  am  an  arm  and 
not  an  eye." 

Champagne  was  a  powerful  and  vigorous  province. 
The  Count  of  Champagne  was  the  lord  of  the  viscounty 
of  Brie,  which  Brie  was  in  itself,  properly  speaking  only 
a  little  Champagne,  as  Belgium  is  a  little  France.  The 
Count  of  Champagne  was  a  peer  of  France  and  bore  the 


CHAMPAGNE.  29 

banner  of  tlie  Lilies  at  the  coronation.  He  convened  his 
own  States  in  royal  fashion  by  seven  counts  qualified  as 
peers  of  Champagne ;  they  were  the  counts  of  Joigny, 
Eethel,  Braine,  Roucy,  Brienne,  Grand-Prd  and  Bar- 
sur-Seine. 

There  is  not  a  town  or  village  in  Champagne  that  has 
not  an  interesting  origin  of  some  sort  or  other.  The 
great  communes  are  intermingled  with  our  history ;  the 
small  ones  are  always  the  scene  of  some  adventure. 
Troyes  was  saved  from  Attila  by  Saint  Loup,  and 
saw  in  878  what  Paris  has  only  seen  in  1804,  —  a  pope 
crowning  an  emperor  in  France;  John  VIIL  crowning 
Louis-le-Bfegue.  It  was  at  Attigny  that  Pepin  held  his 
high  court  of  justice,  thereby  making  Gaifre,  Duke  of 
Aquitaine,  tremble. 

Champagne  is  a  powerful  province,  and  there  is  no 
town  or  village  in  it  that  has  not  something  remarkable. 
Eheims,  which  owns  the  cathedral  of  cathedrals,  was  the 
place  where  Clovis  was  baptized.  It  was  at  Andelot  that 
the  interview  between  Gontran,  King  of  Bourgogne,  and 
Childebert,  King  of  Austrasie,  took  place.  Hinemar  took 
refuge  at  Epernay,  Abailard  at  Provim,  Hdloise  at  Par- 
aclet.  The  Gordiens  triumphed  at  Langres,  and  in  the 
Middle  Ages  its  citizens  destroyed  the  seven  formidable 
castles,  —  Chagney,  Saint  Broing,  Neuilly  Cotton,  Cobons, 
Bourg,  Humes,  and  Pailly.  The  league  was  concluded  at 
Joinville  in  1584;  Henry  IV.,  was  protected  at  Chalons 
in  1591 ;  the  Prince  of  Orange  was  killed  at  Saint 
Dizier  ;  Sezenne  is  the  ancient  place  of  arms  of  the  Dukes 
of    Bourgogne ;    Ligny   I'Abbaye   was    founded    in   the 


30  THE   RHINE. 

domains  of  Seigneur  Chatillon,  by  Saint  Bernard,  who 
promised  the  seigneur  as  many  perches  of  land  in  heaven 
as  the  sire  had  given  him  upon  earth  ;  Mouzon  is  the 
fief  of  the  Abbot  of  Saint  Hubert,  who  sends  six  coursing 
dogs,  and  the  same  number  of  birds  of  prey,  every  year  to 
the  King  of  France. 

Champagne  retains  the  empreinte  of  our  ancient  kings, 

—  Charles  the  Simple  for  the  sirerie  at  Attigny ;  Saint 
Louis  and  Louis  XIV.,  the  devout  king  and  the  great 
king,  first  lifted  arms  in  Champagne,  the  former  in  1228, 
when  raising  the  seige  of  Troyes,  the  latter  in  1652  at 
Sainte  Menehould. 

The  ancient  annals  of  Champagne  are  not  less  glorious 
than  the  modern.     The  country  is  full  of  sweet  souvenirs, 

—  Merovde  and  the  Francs,  Actius  and  the  Eomans, 
Theodoric  and  the  Visigoths,  Mount  Jules  and  the  tomb 
of  Jovinus.  Antiquity  here  lives,  speaks,  and  cries  out 
to  the  traveller,  "  Sta,  viator ! " 

From  the  days  of  the  Romans  to  the  present  day,  the 
town  of  Champagne,  surrounded  at  times  by  the  Alains, 
the  Sufeves,  the  Vandals,  and  the  Germans,  would  have 
been  burned  to  the  ground,  rather  than  have  been  given 
over  to  the  enemy.  They  are  built  upon  rocks,  and  have 
taken  for  their  device  "  Donee  moveantur." 

In  451  the  Huns  were  destroyed  in  the  plains  of 
Champagne  ;  in  1814,  if  God  had  willed  it,  the  Russians 
would  also  have  met  the  same  fate. 

Never  speak  of  this  province  but  with  respect.  How 
many  of  its  children  have  been  sacrificed  for  France  !  In 
1813  the  population  of  one  district  of  Marne  consisted  of 


CHAMPAGNE.  31 

311,000.     In   1830   it  had  only  309,000,    showing   that 
fifteen  years  of  peace  had  not  repaired  the  loss. 

But,  to  the  explanation :  When  any  one  applies  the 
word  hete  to  Champagne,  change  the  meaning ;  it  signifies 
naif,  simple,  rude,  primitive,  and  redoubtable  in  need.  A 
lete  may  be  a  lion  or  an  eagle.  It  is  what  Champagne 
was  in  1814. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FROM   VILLERS-COTTERETS   TO   LA  FRONTIERE, 

The  Effects  of  Travelling.  —  The  Retrograde  Movement.  —  Reflection. — 
The  Secret  of  Stars.  —  The  Inscription  "  I.  C."  —  The  Cathedral  where 
King  Pepin  was  crowned.  —  The  Prisoner's  sad  Rencontre.  —  Rheims. 
—  Church  at  Me'zieres.  —  The  Effects  of  a  Bomb.  —  Sedan  and  its 
Contents.  — The  Transpiring  Events  at  Turenne's  Birth.  —  Conversa- 
tion of  a  Sir  John  Falstaff  and  his  Better-half. 

'T^HIS  time  I  have  made  some  way.  I  write  to  you 
-■-  to-day,  my  dear  friend,  from  Givet,  an  old  little 
town  which  has  had  the  honour  of  supplying  Louis  XVIII. 
with  his  last  order  of  the  day,  and  his  last  pun :  "  Saint 
Denis,  Givet  {fy  vats')." 

I  arrived  here  at  four  in  the  morning,  pommelled  to 
death  by  the  jolting  of  a  frightful  chariot,  which  they  call 
a  diligence.  I  threw  myself  on  my  bed  in  my  clothes,  slept 
two  hours,  and  then,  day  having  broken,  I  rose  to  write  to 
you.  On  opening  my  window  to  enjoy  the  view,  I  per- 
ceived the  angle  of  a  whitewashed  wall,  an  ancient  wooden 
gutter  choked  with  moss,  and  an  old  cart-wheel  leaning 
against  a  wall.  As  to  my  room,  it  is  a  big  hall,  furnished 
with  four  immense  beds  with  an  immense  chimney  in 
wood,  surmounted  by  a  wretched  little  mirror,  and  on  the 
hearth  a  very  small  fagot,  near  the  fagot  a  broom,  and 
near  it  an  antediluvian  bootjack,  the  opening  of  which 
rivals  the  windings  of  the  Meuse.     If  you  venture  to  put 


SOISSONS.  33 

your  foot  into  it,  you  are  pretty  sure  never  to  get  it 
out  again.  Others  have,  like  myself,  probably  limped 
about  the  house  with  the  bootjack  fastened  to  their 
heel,  crying  aloud  for  help.  To  be  just,  I  must  make 
a  little  correction  as  to  the  view.  A  moment  ago  I 
heard  hens  cackling;  I  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  I 
saw  a  charming  little  garden  mallow  all  in  flower,  just 
beneath  me.  It  stood  on  a  plank,  supported  by  two  old 
pipkins  and  gave  itself  all  the  airs  of  a  rose-tree. 

A  trifling  incident,  not  worth  relating,  caused  me  to 
make  a  retrograde  movement  from  Varennes  to  Villers- 
Cotterets ;  and  the  day  before  yesterday,  in  order  to 
make  up  for  lost  time,  I  took  the  diligence  for  Soissons. 
There  was  no  passenger  but  myself, —  a  circumstance 
which  was  in  no  way  disconcerting,  as  it  gave  me  an 
opportunity  of  turning  over  at  my  ease  the  pages  of  some 
of  my  favourite  authors. 

As  I  approached  Soissons,  day  was  fast  fading,  and 
night  had  cast  its  sombre  aspect  over  that  beautiful 
valley  where  the  road,  after  passing  the  hamlet  of  La 
Felie,  gradually  descends,  and  leads  to  the  cathedral  of 
Saint-Jean-des-Vignes.  Notwithstanding  the  fog  which 
rose  around,  I  perceived  the  walls  and  roofs  of  the 
houses  of  Soissons,  with  a  half-moon  peering  from  behind 
them.  I  alighted,  and,  with  a  heart  fully  acknowledging 
the  sublimity  of  Nature,  gazed  upon  the  imposing  scene. 
A  grasshopper  was  chirping  in  the  neighbouring  field ; 
the  trees  by  the  roadside  were  softly  rustling;  and  I  saw, 
with  the  mind's  eye,  Peace  hovering  over  the  plain,  now 
solitary  and  tranquil,  where  Ccesar  had  conquered,  Clovis 

VOL.  XXVII. —  3 


34  THE  RHINE. 

had  exercised  his  authority,  and  where  Napoleon  had  all 
but  fallen.  It  shows  that  men  —  even  Caesar,  Clovis,  and 
Napoleon  —  are  only  passing  shadows ,  and  that  war  is  a 
fantasy  which  terminates  with  them ;  whilst  God  and 
Nature,  which  comes  from  God,  and  Peace,  which  comes 
from  Nature,  are  things  of  eternity. 

Determined  on  taking  the  Sedan  mail,  which  does  not 
arrive  at  Soissons  till  midnight,  I  allowed  the  diligence 
to  proceed,  knowing  that  I  had  plenty  of  time  before  me. 
The  trajet  which  separated  me  from  Soissons  was  only  a 
charming  promenade.  When  a  short  distance  from  the 
town,  I  sat  down  near  a  very  pretty  little  house,  upon 
which  the  forge  of  a  blacksmith  shed  a  faint  light.  I 
looked  upwards :  the  heavens  were  serene  and  beautiful, 
and  the  planets  —  Jupiter,  Mars,  and  Saturn  —  were 
shining  in  the  southeast.  The  first,  whose  course  for 
three  months  is  somewhat  complicated,  was  between  the 
other  two,  and  was  forming  a  perfectly  straight  line. 
More  to  the  east  was  Mars,  fiery  in  his  appearance,  and 
imitating  the  starry  constellation  by  a  kind  of  flamhoie- 
ment  farouche.  A  little  above,  shining  softly,  and  with 
a  white  and  peaceful  appearance,  was  that  monster- 
planet,  the  frightful  and  mysterious  world,  which  we 
call  Saturn.  On  the  other  side,  at  the  extremity  of  the 
view,  a  magnificent  beacon  reflected  its  light  on  the 
sombre  hills  which  separate  Noyon  from  Soissonnais. 
As  I  was  asking  myself  the  utility  of  such  a  light  in  these 
immense  plains,  I  saw  it  leaving  the  border  of  the  hills, 
bounding  through  the  fog,  and  mounting  near  the  zenith. 
That  beacon  was  Aldebaran,  the  three-coloured  sun,  the 


THE   HEAVENLY   BODIES.  35 

enormous  purple,  silvery,  aud  blue  star  which  rises 
majestically  in  the  waste  of  the  crepuscule. 

Oh,  what  a  secret  there  is  in  these  stars  !  The  poetical, 
the  thinking,  and  the  imaginative  have,  in  turn,  contem- 
plated, studied,  and  admired  them, —  some,  like  Zoroaster, 
in  bewilderment;  others,  like  Pythagoras,  with  inex- 
pressible awe.  Seth  named  the  stars,  as  Adam  did 
animals.  The  Chaldeans  and  the  Genethliaques,  Esdras 
and  Zorobabel,  Orpheus  and  Homer,  Pherecide,  Xenophon, 
Hecatseus,  Herodotus,  and  Thucydides  —  all  eyes  of  the 
earth,  so  long  shut,  so  long  deprived  of  light  —  have 
been  fixed  from  one  age  to  another  on  those  orbs  of 
heaven  which  are  always  open,  always  lighted  up,  always 
living.  The  same  planets,  the  same  stars,  that  fix  our 
attention  to-night,  have  been  gazed  at  by  all  these  men. 
Job  speaks  of  Orion  and  of  the  Pleiades ;  Plato  listened 
and  distinctly  heard  the  vague  music  of  the  spheres  ; 
Pliny  thought  that  the  sun  was  God,  and  that  the  spots 
on  the  moon  were  the  exhalations  of  the  earth.  The 
poets  of  Tartary  named  the  pole  senisticol,  which  means 
an  iron  nail;  Eocoles  says,  "  That  the  lion  might  as  well 
have  been  called  the  ape ;  "  Pacuvius  would  not  credit 
astrologers,  under  the  idea  that  they  would  be  equal  to 
Jupiter :  — 

"  Nam  si  qui,  quse  eventura  sunt,  praevideant 
iEqniparent  Jovi." 

Favorinus  asked  himself  this  question  :  "  Si  vitas  mortis- 
que  hominum  rerumque  numanarum  omnium  et  ratio  et 
causa  in  ccelo  et  apud  stcllas  foret?"  Aulus-Gellius, 
sailing  from  Egine  to  Pirde,  sat  all  night  upon  the  poop, 


36  THE  RHINE. 

contemplating  the  stars.  "Nox  fuit  clemens  mare,  et 
anni  eestas  ccelumque  liquide  serenum:  sedebamus  ergo 
in  puppi  simul  universi  et  lucentia  sidera  consideraba- 
mus."  Horace  himself  —  that  practical  philosopher, 
the  Voltaire  of  the  age  of  Augustus,  greater  poet,  it  is 
true,  than  the  Voltaire  of  Louis  XV. —  shuddered  when 
looking  at  the  stars,  and  wrote  these  terrible  lines  : — 

•'  Hunc  solem,  et  Stellas  et  decedentia  certis, 
Tempora  momentis  sunt  qui  lormidine  nulla 
Imbuti  spectant." 

As  for  me,  I  do  not  fear  the  stars, —  I  love  them  ;  still,  I 
have  never  reflected  without  a  certain  conviction  that  the 
normal  position  of  the  heavens  is  night,  and  what  we 
call  "  day "  arises  from  the  appearance  of  a  bright  illu- 
minary. 

We  cannot  always  be  looking  at  immensity ;  ecstasy  is 
akin  to  prayer ;  the  latter  breathes  consolation,  but  the 
former  fatigues  and  enervates.  On  taking  mine  eyes 
from  above,  I  cast  them  upon  the  wall  facing  me  ;  and 
even  there,  subject  was  afforded  for  meditation  and 
thought.  On  it  were  traces,  almost  entirely  effaced,  of 
an  ancient  inscription.  I  could  only  make  out  I.  C. 
Without  doubt,  they  referred  either  to  Pagan  or  Chris- 
tian Rome, —  to  the  city  of  strength,  or  to  that  of  faith. 
I  remained,  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  stone,  which 
seemed  to  become  animate,  lost  in  vain  hypotheses. 
When  I.  C.  were  first  known  to  men,  they  governed  the 
world  ;  the  second  time,  they  enlightened  it, —  Julius 
Csesar  and  Jesus  Christ. 


SAINT-JEAN-DES-VIGNES.  3? 

Dante,  on  putting  Brutus  the  murderer  and  Judas  the 
traitor  together  in  the  lowest  extremity  of  hell,  and  caus- 
ing them  to  be  devoured  by  Satan,  must  have  been 
influenced  by  a  similiar  thought  to  that  which  engrossed 
my  whole  attention. 

Three  cities  are  now  added  to  Soissons  —  the  Novio- 
dunum  of  the  Gauls,  the  Augusta  Suessonium  of  the 
Eomans,  and  the  old  Soissons  of  Clovis,  of  Charles  the 
Simple,  and  of  the  Duke  of  Mayenne.  There  remains 
nothing  of  that  Noviodunum  which  the  rapid  march  of 
Csesar  terrified.  "  Swessiones,"  say  the  Commentaries, 
*'  celeritate  Eomanorum  permoti,  legatos  ad  Csesarem  de 
deditione  mittunt."  Of  Swessonium  all  that  is  left  is 
some  unsightly  ruins,  among  others  the  ancient  temple 
which  the  Middle  Ages  turned  into  the  chapel  of  Saint 
Peter.  Old  Soissons  is  more  interesting.  It  has  Saint- 
Jean-des-Vignes,  its  old  castle,  and  its  cathedral  in  which 
Pepin  was  crowned  in  752.  I  have  not  been  able  to 
trace  any  vestige  of  the  fortifications  of  the  Duke  of 
Mayenne,  nor  to  find  out  whether  they  are  the  fortifica- 
tions which  led  the  emperor  to  remark,  in  1814,  as  he 
noticed  some  fossil  remains  in  the  wall,  "  The  walls  of 
Soissons  were  built  of  the  same  stone  as  the  walls  of 
Saint  Jean  d'  Acre,"  —  a  very  curious  observation,  con- 
sidering how  it  was  made,  when,  and  by  what  a  man. 

It  was  very  dark  when  I  entered  Soissons ;  therefore, 
instead  of  looking  for  ISToviodonum  or  Suessonium,  I 
regaled  myself  with  a  tolerably  good  supper.  Being 
refreshed,  I  went  out  and  wandered  about  the  gigantic 
silhouette  of   Saint-Jean-des-Vignes,  and   it  was  twelve 


38  THE   RHINE. 

o'clock  before  I  returned  to  the  auherge,  when  silence 
and  darkness  prevailed. 

Suddenly,  however,  a  noise  broke  upon  my  ear ;  it  was 
the  arrival  of  the  mail-coach,  which  stopped  a  few  paces 
from  the  inn.  There  was  only  one  vacant  place,  which 
I  took,  and  was  on  the  point  of  installing  myself,  when 
a  strange  uproar  —  cries  of  women,  noise  of  wheels,  and 
trampling  of  horses  —  broke  out  in  a  dark  narrow  street 
adjoining.  Although  the  driver  stated  that  he  would 
leave  in  five  minutes,  I  hurried  to  the  spot ;  and  on  enter- 
ing the  little  street,  saw,  at  the  base  of  a  huge  wall, 
which  had  the  odious  and  chilling  aspect  peculiar  to 
prisons,  a  low  arched  door,  that  was  open.  A  few  paces 
farther  on,  a  mournful-looking  vehicle,  stationed  between 
two  gendarmes  on  horseback,  was  half  hid  in  the  obscu- 
rity ;  and  near  the  wicket  four  or  five  men  were  struggling 
and  endeavouring  to  force  a  woman,  who  was  screaming 
fearfully,  into  the  carriage.  The  dim  light  of  a  lantern, 
which  was  carried  by  an  old  man,  cast  a  lugubrious  glare 
upon  the  scene.  The  female,  a  robust  country-woman 
about  thirty  years  of  age,  was  fiercely  struggling  with 
the  men,  —  striking,  scratching,  and  shrieking  ;  and  when 
the  lamp  shone  upon  the  wild  countenance  and  dishev- 
elled hair  of  the  poor  creature,  it  disclosed,  melancholy 
to  behold,  a  striking  picture  of  despair.  She  at  last  seized 
one  of  the  iron  bars  of  the  wicket ;  but  the  men,  with  a 
violent  effort,  forced  her  from  it,  and  carried  her  to  the 
cart.  This  vehicle,  upon  which  the  lantern  was  then 
shining,  had  no  windows,  small  holes  drilled  in  front 
supplied  their  place.     There  was  a  door  at  the  back  part 


THE  PRISONERS.  39 

which  was  shut,  and  guarded  by  large  bolts  of  iron. 
When  opened,  the  interior  of  the  carriole  disclosed  a 
sort  of  box,  without  light,  almost  without  air.  It  was 
divided  into  oblong  compartments  by  a  thick  board,  the 
one  having  no  communication  with  the  other,  and  the 
door  shutting  both  at  the  same  time.  One  of  the  cells, 
that  to  the  left,  was  empty,  but  the  right  one  was 
occupied.  In  the  angle,  squatted  like  a  wild  beast,  was 
a  man,  —  if  a  kind  of  spectre  with  a  broad  face,  a  flat 
head,  large  temples,  grizzled  hair,  short  legs,  and  dressed 
in  a  pair  of  old,  torn  trousers  and  tattered  coat  may  be 
called  one.  The  legs  of  the  wretched  man  were  closely 
chained  together ;  a  shoe  was  on  his  right  foot,  while  his 
left,  which  was  enveloped  in  linen  stained  with  blood, 
was  partly  exposed  to  view.  This  creature,  hideous  to  the 
sight,  who  was  eating  a  piece  of  black  bread,  paid  no 
attention  to  what  was  going  on  around  him ;  nor  did  he 
look  up  to  see  the  wretched  companion  that  was  brought 
him.  The  poor  woman  was  still  struggling  with  the  men, 
who  were  endeavouring  to  thrust  her  into  the  empty  cell, 
and  was  crying  out,  "  No,  I  shall  not !  Never  —  never !  — 
kill  me  sooner  —  never  ! " 

In  one  of  her  convulsions  she  cast  her  eyes  into  the 
vehicle,  and  on  perceiving  the  prisoner  she  suddenly 
ceased  crying,  her  legs  trembled,  her  whole  frame  shook, 
and  she  exclaimed,  with  a  stifled  voice,  but  with  an 
expression  of  anguish  that  I  shall  never  forget,  — 

"  Oh,  that  man  ! " 

The  prisoner  looked  at  her  with  a  confused  yet  fero- 
cious air.    I  could  resist  no  longer.    It  was  clear  that  she 


40  THE  RHINE. 

had  committed  some  serious  crime,  —  perhaps  robbery, 
perhaps  worse  ;  that  the  gendarmes  were  transporting 
her  from  one  place  to  another  in  one  of  those  odious 
vehicles  metaphorically  called  by  the  gamins  of  Paris 
paniers  a  salade ;  but  she  was  a  woman,  and  I  thought 
it  my  duty  to  interfere.  I  called  to  the  galley-sergeant, 
but  he  paid  no  attention  to  me.  A  worthy  gendarme, 
however,  stepped  forward,  and,  proud  of  his  little  author- 
ity, demanded  my  passport.  Unfortunately  I  had  just 
locked  up  that  essentiel  in  my  trunk,  and,  whilst  entering 
into  explanations,  the  jailers  made  a  powerful  effort, 
plunged  the  woman,  half-dead,  into  the  cart,  shut  the 
door,  pushed  the  bolts,  and  when  I  turned  round  all  had 
left,  and  nothing  was  heard  but  the  rattling  of  the  wheels 
and  the  trampling  of  the  escort. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  I  was  comfortably  seated  in 
a  carriage  drawn  by  four  excellent  horses.  I  thought  of 
the  wretched  woman,  and  I  contrasted,  with  an  aching 
heart,  my  situation  with  hers.  In  the  midst  of  such 
thoughts  I  fell  asleep. 

When  I  awoke,  morning  was  breaking ;  we  were  in  a 
beautiful  valley,  —  that  of  Braine-sur-Vesle.  Venus  was 
shining  above  our  heads,  and  its  rays  cast  a  serenity  and 
an  inexpressible  melancholy  upon  the  fields  and  woods ; 
it  was  a  celestial  eye,  which  opened  upon  this  sleeping 
and  lovely  country. 

The  mail  traverses  Eheims  at  full  gallop  without 
any  respect  for  the  cathedral.  It  is  barely  possible  to 
perceive  above  the  gables  of  a  narrow  street  two  or 
three  minarets,  the  escutcheon  of  Charles  VII.,  and  the 


m6zi4:res  41 

slender  "flfeche  des  supplicids"  shooting  up  from  the 
apsis. 

From  Eheims  to  Eethel  there  is  nothing,  —  Champagne 
Pouilleuse  whose  golden  locks  have  just  been  cropped  by 
July ;  great  bare  yellow  plains,  immense  soft  billows  of 
earth  on  the  top  of  which  quiver,  like  a  vegetable  foam, 
some  wretched  briers ;  occasionally,  at  the  edge  of  the 
landscape,  a  lazy  mill  turning  slowly,  as  if  the  noonday 
sun  was  too  much  for  it,  or  on  the  sideway  a  potter 
drying  on  planks  set  up  before  his  door  some  dozen  of 
flower-pots.  Eethel  sinks  gracefully  from  the  top  of  a 
hill  down  to  the  Aisne,  whose  arms  intersect  the  town  in 
two  or  three  places.  There  is  nothing,  however,  that 
proclaims  it  the  ancient  princely  residence  of  one  of  the 
seven  count-peers  of  Champagne.  The  streets  are  the 
streets  of  some  big  burgher  town  rather  than  of  a  city. 
The  church  is  rather  mean-looking. 

From  Eethel  to  M^ziferes  the  path  climbs  those  vast 
steps  by  which  the  plateau  of  the  Argonne  is  connected 
with  the  higher  plain  of  Eocroy.  The  great  slate  roofs, 
the  whitewashed  fronts,  the  wooden  projections  that 
defend  the  houses  on  the  north  from  the  rain,  give  the 
village  a  peculiar  aspect.  Now  and  then,  the  heights  of 
the  Faucilles  break  the  line  of  the  horizon  towards  the 
southeast ;  but  there  are  few  or  no  woods,  barely  some 
clumps  of  trees  on  the  distant  hillsides.  That  bastard 
child  of  civilization,  deforestation,  has  sadly  wasted  the 
old  den  of  the  Wild  Boar  of  the  Ardennes. 

I  looked  as  soon  as  I  came  to  Mdzi^res  for  some  of  the 
ancient  half-ruined  towers  of  the  Saxon  castle  of  Helle- 


42  THE   RHINE. 

bai  de.  I  only  found  the  cold,  harsli  zigzags  of  a  citadel  of 
Vauban.  On  the  other  hand,  while  examining  the 
passes,  I  perceived  at  different  points  rather  fine  remains, 
although  they  were  dismantled,  of  the  wall  attacked  by 
Charles  V.  and  defended  by  Bayard.  The  church  of 
Mdzi^res  is  somewhat  noted  for  its  stained  glass.  I 
profited  by  the  half-hour  the  mail  grants  travellers  for 
breakfast  to  visit  it.  The  windows  must  indeed  have 
been  very  beautiful ;  there  are  still  some  fragments  of 
them  remaining  imbedded  in  large  windows  of  white 
glass.  But  the  most  interesting  object  is  the  church 
itself,  which  is  of  the  fifteenth  century.  It  has  a  charm- 
ing porch  on  the  southern  side.  Two  bas-reliefs  of  the 
time  of  Charles  VIII.,  above  two  pillars  on  the  right 
and  left  of  the  choir,  have  been  shamefully  whitewashed 
and  mutilated.  The  whole  church  is  plastered  over  with 
yellow,  the  grainings  and  keystones  of  the  roof  being 
picked  out  in  various  colours.  This  is  all  very  stupid  and 
very  ugly.  On  the  north  of  the  apside  I  perceived  an 
inscription  upon  the  wall,  which  testified  that  Mdzi^res 
was  cruelly  assailed  and  bombarded  by  the  Prussians  in 
1815  ;  and  above  it  these  words, — 

"  Lector  leva  oculos  ad  fornicem  et  vide  quasi  quoddam 
divinae  manus  indicium." 

I  raised  my  eyes,  and  saw  a  large  rent  in  the  vault 
above  my  head,  and  in  it  an  enormous  bomb,  which,  after 
having  pierced  the  roof  of  the  church,  the  timber-work, 
and  the  masonry,  was  thus  stopped,  as  if  by  miracle, 
when  about  to  fall  upon  the  pavement.  Twenty-five 
years  have  now  expired,  and  still  it  remains  in  the  same 


m£zi£res.  43 

position.  That  bomb,  and  that  wide  rent  which  is  above 
the  head  of  the  visitor,  produce  a  very  strange  effect, 
which  is  heightened  upon  reflecting  that  the  first  bomb 
made  use  of  in  war  was  at  Mdzi6res,  in  the  year  1521. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  church  another  inscription 
informs  us  that  the  nuptials  of  Charles  IX.  with  Eliz- 
abeth of  Austria  were  happily  celebrated  in  this  church, 
on  November  17, 1570,  two  years  before  St.  Bartholomew. 
The  grand  portail  is  of  this  epoch,  and,  consequently, 
noble  in  appearance,  and  of  a  refined  taste. 

As  for  Mezi^res,  there  are  some  very  tall  trees  upon 
its  ramparts ;  the  streets  are  clean,  and  remarkable  for 
their  dullness ;  there  is  nothing  about  the  town  that 
reminds  us  of  Hellebarde  and  Garinus  the  founders, 
Balthazar  who  ransacked  it,  Count  Hugo  who  ennobled 
it,    or  of  Folques  and  Adalberon  who  besieged  it. 

It  was  near  noon  when  I  arrived  at  Sedan,  and  instead 

of  seeing  monuments  and  edifices,  I  saw  what  the  town 

contains,  —  pretty  women,  handsome  carahiniers,  cannon, 

and  trees  and  prairies  along  the  Meuse.     I  tried  to  find 

some  vestiges  of  M.  de  Turenne,  but  did  not  succeed. 

The  pavilion  where  he  was  born  is  demolished,  but  a 

black  stone,  with  the  following  inscription,  supplies  its 

place :  — 

Ici  NAQUiT  Turenne 

LE   II   SePTEMBRE   MDCXI. 

The  date,  which  is  in  prominent  gold  letters,  struck  me, 
and  my  mind  reverted  to  that  eventful  period.  In  1611 
Sully  retired ;  Henry  IV.  was  assassinated  the  preceding 
year ;  Louis  XIII.,  who  ought  to  have  died  as  his  father 


44  THE   RHINE. 

did,  on  the  14th  of  May,  was  then  ten  years  old ;  Eiche- 
lieu  was  in  his  twenty-sixth  year ;  the  good  people  of 
Eouen  called  a  man  Petit  Pierre,  who  was  afterwards 
named  by  the  universe  Le  Grand  Corneille  ;  Shakspeare 
and  Cervantes  were  living,  so  were  Branthome  and  Pierre 
Mathieu.  In  1611  Papirien  Masson  and  Jean  Bussde 
breathed  their  last;  Gustave  Adolphe  succeeded  the 
visionary  monarch  Charles  IX.  of  Sweden ;  Philip  III., 
in  spite  of  the  advice  of  the  Duke  of  Osunna,  drove  the 
Moors  from  Spain;  and  the  German  astronomer,  Jean 
Fabricius,  discovered  the  spots  on  the  sun.  Such  are  the 
events  that  were  transpiring  in  the  world  when  Turenne 
was  born.  Sedan  has  not  been  a  pious  guardian  of  his 
memory.  The  house  in  which  he  was  born  has  been 
thrown  down  and  his  castle  razed  to  the  ground. 

I  have  not  had  the  courage  to  go  to  Bazeilles  and 
find  out  whether  or  not  some  peasant  proprietor  had 
torn  up  the  avenue  of  trees  the  great  soldier  had  planted. 
There  is,  however,  a  mediocre  bronze  statue  of  Turenne 
in  the  principal  square  of  Sedan.  It  did  not  console  me 
for  all  the  rest.  The  statue  is  but  glory.  The  room  in 
which  he  was  born,  the  castle  in  which  he  lived,  the 
trees  he  planted  would  have  been  souvenirs. 

Neither  are  there  any  souvenirs  of  William  de  la 
Marck,  that  horrible  precursor  of  Turenne  in  the  annals 
of  Sedan.  For  this  there  is  a  better  reason.  It  is  a 
remarkable  thing,  and  worth  while  recording,  that  at  a 
given  time,  by  the  natural  progress  of  things  and  of 
ideas,  the  city  of  the  Wild  Boar  of  the  Ardennes  became 
sufficiently  humanized  to  give   birth  to  a  Turenne. 


MfezlfeRES.  45 

After  a  good  breakfast  in  an  excellent  hotel  (the  Croix 
d'Or),  there  was  nothing  to  keep  me  at  Sedan  ;  I  decided 
to  return  to  Mdziferes  and  there  take  the  coach  for  Givet. 
The  distance  is  five  leagues ;  but  then,  these  five  leagues 
are  picturesque,  I  made  them  on  foot,  followed  by  a 
swarthy  bare-footed  lad  who  trudged  along  merrily  with 
my  valise.  The  path  lies  nearly  parallel  with  the  Me  use. 
Half  a  league  from  Sedan,  I  came  on  Donchery  with  its 
old  wooden  bridge  and  its  fine  trees;  then  smiling  vil- 
lages,  pretty  cottages  sunk  m  masses  of  verdure,  broad 
meadows  where  herds  of  oxen  were  feeding  in  the  sun. 
The  Meuse  now  vanishing,  now  showing  itself  again. 
The  weather  was  simply  delightful.  Half  way  on  the 
journey  I  became  very  hot  and  very  thirsty ;  I  looked 
around  on  all  sides  for  a  house  where  I  might  get  a  drink. 
At  last  I  saw  one.  I  ran  for  it,  hoping  it  might  be  a 
tavern,  and  I  read  this  sign  above  the  door,  "  Bernier- 
Hannas,  corn-chandler  and  pork -butcher."  Beside  the 
door,  on  a  bench,  was  a  man  with  the  goitre.  There  are 
many  such  unfortunates  in  this  country.  Nevertheless, 
I  bravely  entered  the  pork-corn-chandler's  and  drank  the 
glass  of  water  brought  me  by  him  of  the  goitre. 

I  arrived  at  M^ziferes  at  six  in  the  evening ;  at  seven 
I  left  for  Givet,  squeezed  into  a  low,  narrow,  and  gloomy 
coup^  between  a  fat  man  and  a  fat  woman,  husband  and 
wife,  who  said  tender  things  to  each  other  across  me. 
The  lady  called  her  husband  mon  -pauvre  chiat.  I  do 
not  know  whether  she  intended  to  call  him  mon  pauvre 
chien  or  mon  pauvre  chat.  Crossing  Charleville,  which 
is  only  a  cannon's   shot   from   Mdzi^res,  I  noticed    the 


46  THE  RHINE, 

central  square,  built  in  1605  in  a  grand  style  by  Charles 
de  Gonzague,  Duke  of  Nevers  and  Mantua.  It  is  the 
worthy  sister  of  our  Place  Koyale  in  Paris  ;  it  has  the 
same  arcades,  brick  fronts,  and  high  roofs.  Then,  as 
night  was  coming  on,  and  as  I  had  nothing  better  to  do, 
I  slept,  but  oh,  such  a  violent,  horrible  sleep  as  I  had 
between  the  snoriugs  of  the  fat  man  and  the  gaspings 
of  the  fat  woman  !  I  was  awaked  from  time  to  time  by 
the  changing  of  the  horses,  by  lanterns  suddenly  flaring  at 
the  window,  and  by  dialogues  like  this  :  "  I  say  you  ?  I 
say  you! — "Who  is  that  red-headed  jade?  I  don't  want 
her.  —  Where  is  M.  Simon  ?  M.  Simon  ?  Bah  !  he  is  at 
work.  He  is  always  at  work.  He  works  faster  than  a 
windmill."  Another  time  the  carriage  stopped  for  a 
relay.  I  opened  my  eyes.  A  hurricane  was  blowing,  the 
heavens  were  overcast,  an  immense  mill  was  revolving 
sinisterly  above  our  heads  and  seemed  to  be  looking  at 
us  with  its  two  lamps  as  with  two  eyeballs  of  burning 
coaL  Again  soldiers  surrounded  the  diligence ;  a  gen- 
darme demanded  our  passports.  The  rattling  of  chains 
in  lowering  a  drawbridge  and  the  light  of  a  street  lamp 
which  showed  mounds  of  shot  and  pieces  of  ordnance 
gaping  at  us,  gave  evidence  that  we  had  reached  Eocroy. 
This  name  awakened  me  entirely.  Although  this  was 
hardly  seeing  Ptocroy,  I  had  a  certain  pleasure  in  think- 
ing I  had  passed  through  these  heroic  places,  Eocroy  and 
Sedan,  on  the  same  day  and  within  a  few  hours.  Turenne 
was  born  at  Sedan ;  it  might  almost  be  said  that  Condd 
was  born  at  Eocroy. 

However,  my  two   fat   neighbours   talked   away  and 


THE   BELLS.  47 

related  to  each  other,  as  happens  in  a  badly  concocted 
play,  thmgs  which  both  knew  very  well  already.  "  Just 
think  of  it !  they  had  not  been  at  Kocroy  since  1818. 
Twenty-two  years !  M.  Crochard,  the  secretary  of  the 
sub-prefecture  is  our  intimate  friend.  M.  Crochard,  that 
dear  man,  must  be  asleep  now,  since  it  is  near  midnight," 
etc.  The  lady  seasoned  this  interesting  conversation 
with  certain  odd  locutions,  apparently  familiar  to  her, 
such  as,    "selfish  as  an  old  hare." 

The  coach  started,  but  our  two  neighbours  still 
discoursed,  I  made  many  efforts  not  to  hear  their 
conversation  and  tried  to  listen  to  the  bells  of  the  horses, 
the  noise  of  the  wheels  on  the  pavement,  and  any  sound 
that  might  shut  out  their  vulgar  gossip,  when  suddenly 
a  ravishing  peal  of  bells  came  to  my  succour.  Their 
fine,  light,  crystalline,  fantastic,  aerial  music,  breaking 
abruptly  on  the  dark  night,  announced  to  us  that  we 
were  in  Belgium,  that  land  of  entrancing  chimes.  They 
were  lavish  of  their  lively  and  mocking  badinage,  as  if 
to  reproach  my  two  heavy  neighbours  with  their  vulgar 
commonplace. 

The  peal  which  awoke  me  put  them  to  sleep.  I 
guessed  that  we  were  at  Fumay,  but  the  night  was  too 
dark  to  distinguish  anything.  I  had,  therefore,  to  pass 
the  magnificent  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Hierches  without 
seeing  them,  as  well  as  the  two  fine  rocks  called  the 
Ladies  of  the  Meuse.  Now  and  then  I  perceived  at  the 
bottom  of  a  precipice  full  of  mist,  as  it  were  through  a 
hole  in  a  column  of  smoke,  something  whitish  ;  it  was 
the   Meuse. 


48  THE  RHINE. 

At  last,  when  the  dawn  of  day  appeared,  a  drawbridge 
was  lowered,  a  gate  was  opened,  and  the  diligence 
galloped  through  a  defile,  formed  on  the  left  by  a  black 
perpendicular  rock,  and  on  the  right  by  a  long,  low, 
interminable,  strange  building,  having  a  multitude  of 
doors  and  windows,  all  apparently  open,  without  shutters, 
blinds,  sashes,  or  glass,  letting  me  see  through  the 
gloomy  and  fantastic  house  the  twilight  gilding  the 
horizon  on  the  other  side  of  the  Meuse.  At  the  extrem- 
ity of  this  singular  structure  there  was  one  window,  closed 
and  feebly  lighted.  The  coach  then  passed  rapidly  by 
an  imposing  tower,  plunged  into  a  narrow  street,  and 
turned  mto  a  yard.  Chambermaids  ran  out  with  candles 
and  stable  boys  with  lanterns ;  I  was  at  Givet 


CHAPTEE   V. 

GIVET. 

Flemish  Architects.  —  Little  Givet.  — The  Inscription.  —  Jose  Gutierez.  — 

The  Peasant-Girl. 

THIS  is  an  exceedingly  pretty  town,  situated  on  the 
Meuse,  which  separates  Great  from  Little  Givet, 
and  is  headed  by  a  ridge  of  rocks,  at  the  summit  of 
which  is  the  fort  of  Charlemont.  The  auberge,  called 
the  Hotel  of  the  Golden  Mount,  is  very  comfortable  ; 
and  travellers  may  find  refreshments  there  which,  though 
not  the  most  exquisite,  are  palatable  to  the  hungry,  and 
a  bed,  though  not  the  softest  in  the  world,  highly  accep- 
table to  the  weary. 

The  steeple  of  Little  Givet  is  of  simple  construction ; 
that  of  Great  Givet  is  more  complicated, —  more  recherche. 
The  worthy  architect,  in  planning  the  latter,  had,  with- 
out doubt,  recourse  to  the  following  mode :  He  took  a 
priest's  square  cap,  on  which  he  placed,  bottom  upwards, 
a  large  plate ;  above  this  plate  a  sugar-loaf  headed  with 
a  bottle,  a  steel  spike  thrust  into  its  neck ;  and  on  the 
spike  he  perched  a  cock,  the  purport  of  which  was  to 
inform  its  beholders  the  way  that  the  wind  blew.  Sup- 
posing that  he  took  a  day  to  each  idea,  he  therefore 
must  have  rested  the  seventL  This  artist  was  certainly 
Flemish. 

VOL.   XXVII.  —  4 


50  THE   RHINE. 

About  two  centuries  ago,  Flemish  architects  imagined 
that  nothing  could  exceed  in  beauty  gigantic  pieces  of 
slate  resembling  kitchen-ware ;  so,  when  they  had  a 
steeple  to  build,  they  profited  by  the  occasion,  and 
decked  their  towns  with  a  host  of  colossal  plates. 

Nevertheless,  a  view  of  Givet  still  has  charms,  espe- 
cially if  taken  towards  evening  from  the  middle  of  the 
bridge.  When  I  viewed  it,  night,  which  helps  to  screen 
the  foolish  acts  of  man,  had  begun  to  cast  its  mantle 
over  the  contour  of  this  singularly  built  steeple ;  smoke 
was  hovering  about  the  roofs  of  the  houses ;  at  my  left, 
the  elms  were  softly  rustling ;  to  my  right,  an  ancient 
tower  was  reflected  on  the  bosom  of  the  Mouse ;  farther 
on,  at  the  foot  of  the  redoubtable  rock  of  Charlemont,  I 
descried,  like  a  white  line,  a  long  edifice,  which  I  found 
to  be  nothing  more  than  an  uninhabited  country-house ; 
above  the  town,  the  towers,  and  steeples,  an  immense 
ridge  of  rocks  hid  the  horizon  from  my  sight;  and  in 
the  distance,  in  a  clear  sky,  the  half-moon  appeared  with 
so  much  purity,  with  so  much  of  heaven  in  it,  that  I 
imagined  that  God  had  exposed  to  our  view  part  of  his 
nuptial  ring  to  testify  his  wedded  aiTection  to  man. 

Next  day  I  determined  to  visit  the  venerable  turret 
which  crowned,  in  seeming  respect.  Little  Givet.  The 
road  is  steep,  and  commands  the  services  of  both  hands 
and  feet.  After  some  inconsiderable  trouble,  and  no 
slight  labour  on  all-fours,  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
which  is  fast  falling  into  ruin,  where  I  found  a  huge 
door  secured  by  a  large  padlock.  I  knocked  and  shouted, 
but  no  one  answered,  so  I  was  obliged  to  descend  with- 


JOS:fi  GUTIEREZ.  51 

out  gratifying  my  curiosity.  My  pains,  however,  were 
not  altogether  lost ;  for  on  passing  the  old  edifice  I  dis- 
covered among  the  rubbish,  which  is  daily  crumbling 
into  dust  and  falling  into  the  stream,  a  large  stone,  on 
which  were  the  vestiges  of  an  inscription.  I  examined 
them  attentively,  but  could  only  make  out  the  following 

letters :  — 

loqve  .  .  .  sa  .  l  .  ombre 

Paras  .  .  .  modi  .  sl  . 

acav  .  p  .  .  ,  sotros. 

Above  these  letters,  which  seem  to  have  been  scratched 
with  a  nail,  the  signature  "  losE  Gvitekez,  1643,"  re- 
mained entire. 

Inscriptions,  from  boyhood,  always  interested  me ;  and 
I  assure  you  this  one  opened  up  a  vein  of  thought  and 
inquiry.  What  did  this  inscription  signify?  In  what 
language  was  it  written  ?  By  making  some  allowance 
for  orthography,  one  might  imagine  that  it  was  French ; 
but  on  considering  that  the  words  'para  and  otros  were 
Spanish,  I  concluded  that  it  must  have  been  written  in 
Castilian.  After  some  reflection,  I  imagined  that  these 
were  the  original  words  :  — 

lo  que  empesa  el  hombre 
Para  simismo  dios  le 
acava  para  los  otros. 

("  What  man  begins  for  himself,  God  finishes  for 
others.") 

But  who  was  this  Gutierez  ?  The  stone  had  evidently 
been  taken  from  the  interior  of  the  tower.  It  was  in 
1643  that  the  battle  of  Eocroy  was  fought.     Was  Jos^ 


52  THE  RHINE. 

Gutierez,  then,  one  of  the  vanquished  ?  Had  he,  to  while 
away  the  long  and  tiresome  days,  written  on  the  walls  of 
the  dungeon  the  melancholy  resume  of  his  life,  and  of 
that  of  all  mankind  ? 

At  five  o'clock  next  morning,  alone,  and  comfortably 
seated  on  the  banquette  of  the  diligence  Van  Gend,  I  left 
la  France  by  the  route  of  Namur.  We  proceeded  by  the 
only  chain  of  mountains  of  which  Belgium  can  boast ; 
for  the  Meuse,  by  continuing  to  flow  in  opposition  to 
the  ahaissement  of  the  plateau  of  Ardennes,  succeeded  in 
forming  a  plain  which  is  now  called  Flanders,  —  a  plain 
to  which  Nature  has  refused  mountains  for  its  protection, 
but  which  man  has  studded  with  fortresses. 

After  an  ascension  of  half  an  hour,  the  horses  became 
fatigued,  the  conducteur  thirsty,  and  they  (I  might  say 
we),  with  one  accord  stopped  before  a  small  wine-shop,  in 
a  poor  but  picturesque  village,  built  on  the  two  sides  of  a 
ravine  cut  through  the  mountains.  This  ravine,  which 
is  at  one  time  the  bed  of  a  torrent,  and  at  another  the 
leading  street  of  the  village,  is  paved  with  the  granite  of 
the  surrounding  mountains.  When  we  were  passing,  six 
harnessed  horses  proceeded,  or  rather  climbed,  along  that 
strange  and  frightfully  steep  street,  drawing  after  them  a 
large  empty  vehicle  with  four  wheels.  If  it  had  been 
laden,  I  am  persuaded  that  it  would  have  required 
twenty  horses  to  have  drawn  it.  I  can  in  no  way 
account  for  the  use  of  such  carriages  in  this  ravine,  if 
they  are  not  meant  to  serve  as  sketches  for  young  Dutch 
painters,  whom  we  met  here  and  there  upon  the  road, 
bags  upon  their  backs  and  sticks  in  their  hands. 


THE  PEASANT-GIRL,  53 

What  can  a  person  do  on  the  outside  of  a  coach  but 
gaze  at  all  that  comes  within  his  view  ?  I  could  not  be 
better  situated  for  such  a  purpose.  Before  me  was  the 
greater  portion  of  the  valley  of  the  Meuse  ;  to  the  south 
were  the  two  Givets,  graciously  linked  by  their  bridge ; 
to  the  west  was  the  tower  of  Egmont,  half  in  ruins, 
which  was  casting  behind  it  an  immense  shadow ;  to  the 
north  were  the  sombre  trenches  into  which  the  Meuse 
was  emptying  itself,  whence  a  light  blue  vapour  arose. 
On  turning  my  head,  my  eyes  fell  upon  a  handsome 
peasant-girl,  who  was  sitting  by  the  open  window  of  a 
cottage,  dressing  herself ;  and  above  the  hut  of  the  'pay- 
sanne,  but  almost  close  to  view,  were  the  formidable 
batteries  of  Charlemont,  which  crowned  the  frontiers  of 
France. 

Whilst  I  was  contemplating  this  coup  d'mil,  the  peas- 
ant-girl lifted  her  eyes,  and  on  perceiving  me,  she  smiled, 
saluted  me  graciously  ;  then,  without  shutting  the  win- 
dow or  appearing  disconcerted,  she  continued  her  toilet. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  BANKS  OF  THE  MEUSE. —  DIN  ANT. —  NAMUR 

The  Lesse.  —  A  Flemish  Garden.  —  The  Manakin.  —  The  Tombstone. — 
Athletic  Demoiselles.  —  Signboards  and  their  Utility. 

I  HAVE  arrived  at  Liege.  The  route  from  Givet,  follow- 
ing the  course  of  the  Meuse,  is  highly  picturesque ; 
and  it  strikes  me  as  singular  that  so  little  has  been  said 
of  the  banks  of  this  river,  for  they  are  truly  beautiful 
and  romantic. 

After  passing  the  cabin  of  the  peasant-girl,  the  road  is 
full  of  windings,  and  during  a  walk  of  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  we  are  in  a  thick  forest,  interspersed  with 
ravines  and  torrents.  Then  a  long  plain  intervenes,  at 
the  extremity  of  which  is  a  frightful  yawning, —  a  tre- 
mendous precipice,  upwards  of  three  hundred  feet  in 
depth.  At  the  foot  of  the  precipice,  amidst  the  brambles 
which  bordered  it,  the  Meuse  is  seen  meandering  peace- 
fully, and  on  its  banks  is  a  chdtelet  resembling  a  patisserie 
manieree,  or  time-piece,  of  the  days  of  Louis  XV.,  with  its 
decorated  walls  and  its  Lilliputian  and  fantastical 
garden.  Nothing  is  more  singularly  striking  and  more 
ridiculous  than  this, —  the  petty  work  of  man,  sur- 
rounded by  Nature  in  all  her  sublimity.  One  is  apt  to 
say  that  it  is  a  shocking  demonstration  of  the  bad  taste 


DINANT.  55 

of  man,  brought  into  contrast  with  the  sublime  poetry  of 
God. 

After  the  gulf,  the  plain  begins  again,  for  the  ravine  of 
the  Meuse  divides  it  as  the  rut  of  a  wheel  cuts  the 
ground. 

About  a  quarter  of  a  league  farther  on,  the  road 
becomes  very  steep,  and  leads  abruptly  to  the  river. 
The  declivity  here  is  charming.  Vine-branches  encircle 
the  hawthorn,  which  crowd  both  sides  of  the  road.  The 
Meuse  at  this  point  is  straight,  green  in  appearance,  and 
runs  to  the  left  between  two  banks  thickly  studded  with 
trees.  A  bridge  is  next  seen,  then  another  river,  smaller 
yet  equally  beautiful,  which  empties  itself  into  the  Meuse. 
It  is  the  Lesse  ;  three  leagues  from  which,  in  a  cavity  on 
the  right,  is  the  famed  grotto  of  Hansur  Lesse. 

On  turning  the  road,  a  huge  pyramidal  rock,  sharp- 
ened like  the  spire  of  a  cathedral,  suddenly  appears. 
The  condudeur  told  me  that  it  was  the  Eoche  a  Bazard, 
The  road  passes  between  the  mountain  and  this  colossal 
home,  then  turns  again,  and  at  the  foot  of  an  enormous 
block  of  granite,  crowned  with  a  citadel,  a  church  and  a 
long  street  of  old  houses  meet  the  eye.     It  is  Dinant. 

We  stopped  here  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
observed  a  little  garden  in  the  diligence-yard,  which  is 
sufficient  to  warn  the  traveller  that  he  is  in  Flanders. 
The  flowers  in  it  are  very  pretty ;  in  the  midst  are  two 
painted  statues,  one  of  which  represents  a  woman,  or 
rather  a  manakin,  for  it  is  clothed  in  an  Indian  gown, 
with  an  old  silk  bonnet.  On  approaching,  an  indistinct 
noise  strikes  the  ear  and  a  strange  spurting  of  water  is 


56  THE  RHINE. 

perceived.  We  then  discovered  that  this  female  is  a 
fountain. 

After  leaving  Dinant,  the  valley  extends,  and  the 
Meuse  gradually  widens.  On  the  right  hand  of  the 
river,  the  ruins  of  two  ancient  castles  present  them- 
selves ;  the  rocks  are  now  only  to  be  seen  here  and 
there  under  a  rich  covering  of  verdure,  and  a  housse  of 
green  velours,  bordered  with  flowers,  covers  the  face 
of  the  country. 

On  this  side  are  hop-fields,  orchards,  and  trees  burdened 
with  fruit ;  on  that,  the  laden  vine  is  ever  appearing, 
amongst  whose  leaves  the  feathery  tribe  are  joyously 
revelling.  Here  the  cackling  of  ducks  is  heard,  there  the 
clucking  of  hens.  Young  girls,  their  arms  naked  to  the 
shoulder,  are  seen  jocosely  walking  along,  with  laden 
baskets  on  their  heads  ;  and  from  time  to  time  a  village 
churchyard  meets  the  eye,  contrasting  strangely  with  the 
neighbouring  road,  so  full  of  joy,  of  beauty,  and  of  life. 

In  one  of  those  churchyards,  whose  dilapidated  walls 
leave  exposed  to  view  tall  grass,  green  and  bloom- 
ing, mocking,  as  it  were,  the  once  vain  mortal  that 
moulders  beneath,  I  read  on  a  tombstone  the  following 
inscription :  — 

O  PIE,  DEPUNCTIS  MISERIS  BUCOURRE,  VIATOR? 

No  memento  had  ever  such  an  effect  upon  me  as  this  one. 
Ordinarily,  the  dead  warn  ;  there,  they  supplicate. 

After  passing  a  hill,  where  the  rocks,  sculptured  by 
the  rain,  resembled  the  half-worn  and  blackened  stones 
of  the  old  fountain  of  Luxembourg,  we  begin  to  perceive 


NAMUR.  57 

our  approximation  to  Namur.  Gentlemen's  country-seats 
begin  to  mix  with  the  abodes  of  peasants,  and  the  villa  is 
no  sooner  passed  than  we  come  to  a  village. 

The  diligence  stopped  at  one  of  these  places,  where  I 
had,  on  one  side,  a  garden  well  ornamented  with  colon- 
nades and  Ionic  temples ;  on  the  other,  a  cabaret,  at  the 
door  of  which  a  number  of  men  and  women  were  drink- 
ing ;  and  to  the  right,  upon  a  pedestal  of  white  marble 
veined  by  the  shadows  of  the  branches,  a  Venus  de 
Medicis,  half  hid  among  leaves,  as  if  ashamed  to  be  seen 
in  her  nude  state  by  a  group  of  peasants. 

A  few  steps  farther  on  were  two  or  three  good-looking, 
athletic  wenches,  perched  upon  a  plum-tree  of  consider- 
able height ;  one  of  them  in  a  rather  delicate  attitude,  but 
perfectly  regardless  of  and  unregarded  by  the  peasants 
underneath. 

About  an  hour  afterwards  we  arrived  at  Namur,  which 
is  situated  near  the  junction  of  the  Sombre  and  the 
Meuse.  The  women  are  pretty,  and  the  men  are  hand- 
some, and  they  have  something  pleasing  and  affable  in 
their  cast  of  countenance.  As  to  the  town  itself,  there 
is  nothing  remarkable  in  it ,  nor  has  it  anything  in  its 
general  appearance  which  speaks  of  its  antiquity.  There 
are  no  monuments,  no  architecture,  no  edifices  worthy  of 
notice ;  in  fact,  Namur  can  boast  of  nothing  but  mean- 
looking  churches  and  fountains,  of  the  mauvais  go'Cd 
of  Louis  XV. 

Namur  has  inspired  only  two  poems, —  the  Ode  of 
Boileau  and  the  song  of  an  unknown  poet,  which  deals 
with  an  old  woman  and  the  Prince  of  Orange ;  and,  in 
truth,  ISTamur  does  not  deserve  any  further  poetry. 


58  THE  RHINE. 

The  citadel  rises  coldly  over  the  town.  Yet  I  may  say 
to  you  that  I  have  not  viewed  without  a  certain  respect 
those  severe  fortifications  that  had  the  honour  of  being 
besieged  by  Vauban  and  defended  by  Cohorn.  Where 
there  are  no  churches  I  study  the  signs  of  the  shops. 
These  have  a  curious  significance  for  the  observer.  Inde- 
pendent of  the  dominant  professions  and  local  industries 
which  are  at  once  revealed  by  them,  special  locutions 
abound,  and  the  names  of  the  bourgeoisie,  almost  as 
important  to  the  student  as  the  names  of  the  nobility, 
appear  in  their  most  naive  form  and  under  an  aspect 
that  enlightens  you  at  once. 

Here  are  three  names  taken  at  random  from  the 
shop-fronts  of  Namur ;  they  all  have  their  significance. 
"  L'Epouse  Debursy,  ndgociante."  When  you  read  this, 
you  feel  you  are  in  a  country  that  was  French  yesterday,  is 
foreign  to-day,  and  may  be  French  to-morrow ;  a  country 
in  which  the  language  changes  and  insensibly  degenerates, 
giving  a  clumsy  German  turn  to  French  expressions. 
These  three  words  are  French ;  the  phrase  is  so  no  longer. 
"  Crucifix-Piret,  mercier."  This  is  very  suitable  for 
Catholic  Flanders.  As  name  or  surname.  Crucifix  would 
be  impossible  in  any  part  of  Voltairian  France. 
"  Menendez-Wodon,  horloger,"  —  a  Castilian  name  and 
a  French  name  soldered  by  a  hyphen.  Is  not  the  whole 
history  of  the  domination  of  Spain  over  the  Low  Countries 
written,  proved,  and  related  in  one  proper  name  ?  Thus 
we  have  three  names,  each  of  which  expresses  and 
epitomizes  one  of  the  great  aspects  of  the  country  ;  one 
tells  the  language,  another  the  religion,  another  the 
history. 


SHOP-SIGNS.  59 

We  may  also  observe  that  on  the  shop-signs  of  Dinant, 
Namur,  and  Liege  the  word  "  Demense  "  is  very  frequently 
repeated.  In  the  neighbourhood  of  Paris  and  Rouen  we 
meet,  in  the  same  way,  with  "  Desenne  "  and  "  Deseine." 

To  conclude  with  a  remark  which  may  look  rather 
fantastic,  I  noticed  in  a  suburb  of  Namur  a  certain 
"  Janus,  boulanger,"  and  this  reminded  me  that  I  had 
remarked  at  Paris,  at  the  entrance  to  the  Faubourg 
Saint-Denis,  "  Ndron,  confiseur,"  and  at  Aries,  on  the 
entablature  of  a  ruined  Ptoman  temple,  "  Marius, 
coiffeur." 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

THE  BANKS   OF  THE   MEUSE.  —  HUY.  —  LIEGE. 

A  Chapel  of  the  Tenth  Century.  —  Iron-works  of  Mr.  Cockerill ;  their 
singular  Appearance.  —  St.  Paul's  at  Liege.  —  Palace  of  the  Ecclesi- 
astical Princes  of  Lie'ge.  —  Significant  Decorations  of  a  Room  at  Lie'ge. 


o 


N  leaving  Namur  we  entered  a  magnificent  avenue 
of  trees,  whose  foliage  serves  to  hide  from  our  view 
the  town,  with  its  mean  and  uncouth  steeples,  which, 
seen  at  a  distance,  have  a  grotesque  and  singular  appear- 
ance. After  passing  those  fine  trees,  the  fresh  breeze 
from  the  Meuse  reaches  us,  and  the  road  begins  to  wind 
cheerfully  along  the  river  side.  The  Meuse  widens  by 
the  junction  of  the  Sombre,  the  valley  extends,  and  the 
double  walls  of  rocks  reappear,  resembling  now  and  then 
Cyclop  fortresses,  great  dungeons  in  ruins,  and  vast 
titanic  towers. 

The  rocks  of  the  Meuse  contain  a  great  quantity  of 
iron.  When  viewed  in  the  landscape,  they  are  of  a 
beautiful  colour ;  but  broken,  they  change  into  that 
odious  greyish-blue  which  pervades  all  Belgium.  That 
which  is  magnificent  in  mountains  loses  the  grandeur 
when  broken  and  converted  into  houses. 

"  It  is  God  who  forms  the  rocks ;  man  is  the  builder 
of  habitations." 


SANSON.  — HUY.  61 

We  passed  hastily  through  a  little  village  called  San- 
son, near  which  stand  the  ruins  of  a  castle,  built,  it  is 
said,  in  the  days  of  Clodion.  The  rocks  at  this  place 
represent  the  face  of  a  man,  to  which  the  conducteur 
never  fails  to  direct  the  attention  of  the  traveller.  We 
then  came  to  the  Ardennes,  where  I  observed  —  what 
would  be  highly  appreciated  by  antiquaries  —  a  little 
rustic  church,  still  entire,  of  the  tenth  century.  In  an- 
other village  (I  think  it  is  Sclayen)  is  seen  the  following 
inscription,  in  large  characters,  above  the  principal  door 
of  the  church  :  — 

LES   CHIENS   HORS   DE   LA  MAISON   DE   DIEU. 

If  I  were  the  worthy  curate  I  should  deem  it  more 
important  for  men  to  enter  than  dogs  to  go  out. 

After  passing  the  Ardennes,  the  mountains  become 
scattered,  and  the  Meuse,  no  longer  running  by  the 
roadside,  crosses  among  prairies.  The  country  is  still 
beautiful,  but  the  cheminee  de  I'usine  —  that  sad  obelisk 
of  our  civilisation  industrielle  —  too  often  strikes  the  eye. 
The  road  again  joins  the  river.  We  perceive  vast  fortifi- 
cations, like  eagles'  nests,  perched  upon  rocks;  a  fine 
church  of  the  fourteenth  century ;  and  an  old  bridge, 
with  seven  arches.     We  are  at  Huy. 

Huy  and  Dinant  are  the  prettiest  towns  upon  the 
Meuse,  —  the  former  about  half  way  between  Namur 
and  Li^ge,  the  latter  half  way  between  Namur  and 
Givet.  Huy,  which  is  at  present  a  redoubtable  citadel, 
was  in  former  times  a  warlike  commune,  and  held  out 
with   valour   a   siege   with   Lidge,  as  Dinant   did   with 


62  THE   RHINE. 

Namur.     In  those  heroic  times  cities,  as  kingdoms  now, 
were  always  declaring  war  against  each  other. 

After  leaving  Huy  we  from  time  time  see  on  the 
banks  of  the  river  a  zinc  manufactory,  which,  from  its 
blackened  aspect,  with  smoke  escaping  through  the  crev- 
iced roofs,  appears  to  us  as  if  a  fire  were  breaking  out, 
or  like  a  house  after  a  fire  has  been  nearly  extinguished. 
By  the  side  of  a  bean  field,  in  the  perfume  of  a  little 
garden,  a  brick  house,  with  a  slate  turret,  the  vine  cling- 
ing to  its  walls,  doves  on  the  roof,  and  cages  at  the 
windows,  strikes  the  eye ;  we  then  think  of  Teniers  and 
Mieris. 

The  shades  of  evening  approached.  The  wind  ceased 
blowing,  the  trees  rustling,  and  nothing  was  heard  but 
the  rippling  of  the  water.  The  lights  in  the  adjacent 
houses  burned  dimly,  and  all  objects  were  becoming  ob- 
scured. The  passengers  yawned,  and  said,  "  We  shall  be 
at  Li^ge  in  an  hour."  At  this  moment  a  singular  sight 
suddenly  presented  itself.  At  the  foot  of  the  hills,  which 
were  scarcely  perceptible,  two  round  balls  of  fire  glared 
like  the  eyes  of  tigers.  By  the  roadside  was  a  frightful 
dark  chimney  stalk,  surmounted  by  a  huge  flame,  which 
cast  a  sombre  hue  upon  the  adjoining  rocks,  forests,  and 
ravines.  Nearer  the  entry  of  the  valley,  hidden  in  the 
shade,  was  a  mouth  of  live  coal,  which  suddenly  opened 
and  shut,  and  in  the  midst  of  frightful  noises  spouted 
forth  a  tongue  of  fire;  it  was  the  lighting  of  the  furnaces. 

After  passing  the  place  called  Little  Flemalle,  the 
sight  was  inexpressible,  —  was  truly  magnificent.  All 
the  valley  seemed  to  be  in  a  state  of  conflagration,  — 


LI^GE.  63 

smoke  issuing  from  this  place,  and  flames  arising  from 
that ;  in  fact,  we  could  imagine  that  a  hostile  army  had 
ransacked  the  country,  and  that  twenty  districts  pre- 
sented, in  that  night  of  darkness,  all  the  aspects  and 
phases  of  a  conflagration,  —  some  catching  fire,  some  en- 
veloped in  smoke,  and  others  surrounded  with  flames. 

This  aspect  of  war  is  caused  by  peace ;  this  frightful 
symbol  of  devastation  is  the  effect  of  industry.  The  fur- 
naces of  the  iron-works  of  Mr.  Cockerill,  where  cannon 
is  cast  of  the  largest  calibre,  and  steam-engines  of  the 
highest  power  are  made,  alone  meet  the  eye. 

A  wild  and  violent  noise  comes  from  this  chaos  of 
industry.  I  had  the  curiosity  to  approach  one  of  these 
frightful  places,  and  I  could  not  help  admiring  the  assi- 
duity of  the  workmen.  It  was  a  prodigious  spectacle, 
to  which  the  solemnity  of  the  hour  lent  a  supernatural 
aspect.  Wheels,  saws,  boilers,  cylinders,  scales,  —  all 
those  monstrous  implements  that  are  called  machines, 
and  to  which  steam  gives  a  frightful  and  noisy  life,  — 
rattle,  grind,  shriek,  hiss  ;  and  at  times,  when  the  black- 
ened workmen  thrust  the  hot  iron  into  the  water,  a 
moaning  sound  is  heard  like  that  of  hydras  and  dragons 
tormented  in  hell  by  demons. 

Lid^e  is  one  of  those  old  towns  which  are  in  a  fair 
way  of  becoming  new.  Deplorable  transformation  !  One 
of  those  towns  where  things  of  antiquity  are  disappear- 
ing, leaving  in  their  places  white  facades,  enriched  with 
painted  statues ;  where  the  good  old  buildings,  with 
slated  roofs,   skylight  windows,  chiming  bells,  belfries. 


\ 


64  THE  RHINE. 

and  weathercocks,  are  falling  into  decay,  while  gazed  at 
with  horror  by  some  thick-headed  citizen,  who  is  busy 
with  a  "Constitutionnel,"  reading  what  he  does  not  under- 
stand, yet  pompous  with  the  supposed  knowledge  which 
he  has  attained.  The  Octroi,  a  Greek  temple,  represents 
a  castle  flanked  with  towers,  and  thick  set  with  pikes ; 
and  the  long  stalks  of  the  furnaces  supply  the  place  of  the 
elegant  steeples  of  the  churches.  The  ancient  city  was, 
perhaps,  noisy ;  the  modern  one  is  productive  of  smoke. 

Li^ge  has  no  longer  the  enormous  cathedral  of  the 
princes^veques,  built  by  the  illustrious  Bishop  Notger  in 
the  year  1000,  and  demolished  in  1795  by  —  no  one  can 
tell  whom ;  but  it  can  boast  of  the  iron-works  of  Mr. 
Cockerill. 

Neither  has  it  any  longer  the  convent  of  Dominicans,  — 
sombre  cloister  of  high  fame !  noble  edifice  of  fine  archi- 
tecture !  but  there  is  a  theatre  exactly  on  the  same  spot, 
decorated  with  pillars  and  brass  capitals,  where  operas 
are  performed. 

Lidge,  in  the  nineteenth  century,  is  what  it  was  in  the 
sixteenth.  It  vies  with  France  in  implements  of  war, 
with  Versailles  in  extravagance  of  arms.  But  the  old 
city  of  Saint  Hubert,  with  its  church  and  fortress,  its 
ecclesiastical  and  military  commune,  has  ceased  to  be  a 
city  of  prayer  and  of  war ;  it  is  one  of  buying  and  sell- 
ing, —  an  immense  hive  of  industry.  It  has  been  trans- 
formed into  a  rich  commercial  centre,  and  has  put  one 
of  its  arms  in  France,  the  other  in  Holland,  and  is 
incessantly  taking  from  the  one  and  receiving  from  the 
other. 


LI^GE.  65 

Everything  has  been  changed  in  this  city;  even  its 
etymology  has  not  escaped.  The  ancient  stream  Legia 
bears  now  the  appellation  of  Ei-de-Coq  Fontaine. 

Notwithstanding,  we  must  admit  that  Lidge  is  advan- 
tageously situated  near  the  green  brow  of  the  mountain 
of  Saint  Walburge  ;  is  divided  by  the  Meuse  into  the 
lower  and  upper  towns ;  is  interspersed  with  thirteen 
bridges,  some  of  which  have  rather  an  architectural 
appearance ;  and  is  surrounded  with  trees,  hills,  and 
prairies.  It  has  turrets,  clocks,  and  portes-donjons,  like 
that  of  Saint  Martin  and  Amerrcoeur,  to  excite  the  poet  or 
the  antiquary,  even  though  he  be  startled  with  the  noise, 
the  smoke,  and  the  flames  of  the  manufactories  around. 

As  it  rained  heavily,  I  only  visited  four  churches. 
Saint  Paul's,  the  present  cathedral,  is  a  noble  building  of 
the  fifteenth  century,  having  a  Gothic  cloister,  with  a 
charming  portail  of  the  Eenaissance,  and  surmounted  by 
a  belfry,  which  had  it  not  been  that  some  inapt  architect 
of  our  day  spoiled  all  the  angles,  would  be  considered 
elegant.  Saint  Jean  is  a  grave  fagade  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, consisting  of  a  large  square  steeple,  with  a  smaller 
one  on  each  side.  Saint  Hubert  is  rather  a  superior- 
looking  building,  whose  lower  galleries  are  of  an  excel- 
lent ordre.  Saint  Denis,  a  curious  church  of  the  tenth 
century,  with  a  large  steeple  of  the  eleventh.  That 
steeple  bears  traces  of  having  been  injured  by  fire.  It 
was  probably  burned  during  the  Norman  outbreak.  The 
Eoman  architecture  has  been  ingeniously  repaired,  and 
the  steeple  finished  in  brick.  This  is  perfectly  discern- 
ible, and  has  a  most  singular  effect. 

VOL.    XXVII.  — 5 


66  THE  RHINE. 

As  I  was  going  from  Saint  Denis  to  Saint  Hubert  by 
a  labyrinth  of  old  narrow  streets,  ornamented  here  and 
there  with  madonnas,  I  suddenly  came  within  view  of  a 
large  dark  stone  wall,  and  on  close  observation  discovered 
that  the  back  facade  indicated  that  it  was  a  palace  of 
the  Middle  Ages.  An  obscure  door  presented  itself ;  I 
entered,  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  moments  found 
myself  in  a  vast  yard,  which  turned  out  to  be  that  of 
the  palace  of  the  Ecclesiastic  Princes  of  Lidge.  The 
ensemble  of  the  architecture  is,  perhaps,  the  most  gloomy 
and  noble-looking  that  I  ever  saw. 

There  are  four  lofty  granite  facades,  surmounted  by 
four  prodigious  slate  roofs,  with  the  same  number  of 
galleries.  Two  of  the  facades,  which  are  perfectly  entire, 
present  the  admirable  adjustment  of  ogives  and  arches 
which  characterized  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  centupy  and 
the  beginning  of  the  sixteenth.  The  windows  of  this 
clerical  palace  have  meneaux  like  those  of  a  church. 
Unfortunately  the  two  other  fa(^ades,  which  were  des- 
troyed by  fire  in  1734,  have  been  rebuilt  in  the  pitiful 
style  of  that  epoch,  and  tend  to  detract  from  the  general 
effect.  It  is  now  one  hundred  and  five  years  since  the 
last  bishop  occupied  this  fine  structure. 

The  quadruple  gallery  that  walls  the  yard  is  admirably 
preserved.  There  is  nothing  more  pleasing  to  study  than 
the  pillars  upon  which  the  ogives  are  placed ;  they  are 
of  grey  granite,  like  the  rest  of  the  palace.  Whilst 
examining  the  four  rows,  one  half  of  the  shaft  of  the 
pillar  disappears,  sometimes  at  the  top,  then  at  the  bottom, 
under   a  rich  swelling  of  arabesques.     The  swelling  is 


LI^GE.  67 

doubled  in  the  west  range  of  the  pillars,  and  the  stalk 
disappears  entirely.  This  speaks  only  of  the  Flemish 
caprice  of  the  sixteenth  century ;  but  what  perplexes  us 
is,  that  the  chapiters  of  these  pillars,  decorated  with 
heads,  foliage,  apocalyptical  figures,  dragons,  and  hie- 
roglyphics, seem  to  belong  to  the  architecture  of  the 
eleventh  century ;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
palace  of  Lidge  was  commenced  in  1508,  by  Prince  Erard 
de  la  Mark,  who  reigned  thirty-two  years. 

This  grave  edifice  is  at  present  a  court  of  justice  ; 
booksellers,  and  toy  merchants'  shops  are  under  all  the 
arches,  and  vegetable  stalls  in  the  courtyard.  The  black 
robes  of  the  law  practitioners  are  seen  in  the  midst  of 
baskets  of  red  and  green  cabbages.  Groups  of  Flemish 
merchants,  some  merry,  others  morose,  make  fun  and 
quarrel  before  each  pillar ;  irritated  pleaders  appear 
from  all  the  windows ;  and  in  that  sombre  yard,  formerly 
solitary  and  tranquil  as  a  convent,  of  which  it  has  the 
appearance,  the  un tired  tongue  of  the  advocate  mingles 
with  the  chatter,  the  noise,  and  bavardage  of  the  buy- 
ers and  sellers.  Above  the  high  roofs  of  the  palace  is 
a  lofty  and  massive  square  tower  in  brick.  This  tower, 
which  was  formerly  the  belfry  of  the  prince-bishop,  is 
now  a  prison  for  unfortunate  women,  —  a  sad  and  cold 
antithesis  which  the  Voltairian  bourgeois  of  thirty  years 
ago  might  have  invented  as  a  jest,  but  which  the  positive 
and  utilitarian  bourgeois  of  to-day  executes  in  his  stupid 
fashion  without  any  sense  of  incongruity. 

On  leaving  the  palace  by  the  principal  door,  I  was  able 
to  examine  the  present  facade,  —  a  chilling,  declamatory 


68  THE  KHINE. 

work  of  the  disastrous  architect  of  1748,  and  not  unlike 
a  tragedy  of  Lagrange-Chancel  in  stone  and  marble. 
There  was  on  the  square  in  front  of  this  facade  an  honest 
individual  who  actually  insisted  that  I  should  admire  it. 
I  turned  my  back  on  him  without  pity,  although  he 
informed  me  that  Lidge  was  called  "  Luik "  in  Dutch, 
"  Luttich  "  in  German,  and  "  Leodium  "  in  Latin. 

My  room  at  Lidge  was  ornamented  with  muslin  cur- 
tains, upon  which  were  embroidered  —  not  nosegays,  but 
melons.  There  were  also  several  pictures,  representing 
the  triumph  of  the  Allies  and  our  disasters  in  1814. 
Behold  the  legende  printed  at  the  bottom  of  one  of  these 
paintings : — 

Battle  of  Arcis-sur-Aube,  21st  March,  1814.  The  greater 
portion  of  the  garrison  of  this  place,  composed  of  the  garde 
ancienne,  was  taken  prisoner,  and  the  Allies,  on  the  22d  of 
April,  triumphantly  entered  Paris. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  BANKS  OF  THE  VESDKE. — VERVIERS. 
Railways.  —  Miners  at  Work.  —  Louis  XIV. 

YESTEEDAY  morning,  as  the  diligence  was  about  to 
leave  Lidge  for  Aix-la-Chapelle,  a  worthy  citizen 
annoyed  the  passengers  by  refusing  to  take  the  seat  upon 
the  imperiale  which  the  conductor  pointed  out  as  his. 
For  the  sake  of  peace  I  offered  him  mine,  which  the 
condescending  traveller,  without  evincing  any  reluctance, 
or  even  thanking  me,  accepted,  and  the  heavy  vehicle 
forthwith  rolled  tardily  along.  I  was  pleased  with  the 
change.  The  road,  though  no  longer  by  the  banks  of 
the  Meuse,  but  by  those  of  the  Vesdre,  is  exceedingly 
beautiful. 

The  Vesdre  is  rapid,  and  runs  through  Verviers  and 
Chauffontaines,  along  the  most  charming  valley  in  the 
world.  In  August,  especially  if  the  day  be  fine,  with  a 
blue  sky  over  head,  we  have  either  a  ravine  or  a  garden, 
and  certainly  always  a  paradise.  From  the  road  the 
river  is  ever  in  sight.  It  at  one  time  passes  through  a 
pleasing  village,  at  another  it  skirts  an  old  castle  with 
square  turrets;  there  the  country  suddenly  changes  its 
aspect,  and  on  turning  by  a  hillside,  the  eye  discovers, 
through  an  opening  in  a  thick  tuft  of  trees,  a  low  house, 
with  a  huge  wheel  by  its  side.     It  is  a  water-mill. 


70  THE   RHINE. 

Between  Chauffontaines  and  Verviers  the  valley  is  full 
of  charms,  and,  the  weather  being  propitious,  added 
much  to  enliven  the  scene.  Marmosets  were  playing 
upon  the  garden  steps ;  the  breeze  was  shaking  the 
leaves  of  the  tall  poplars,  and  sounded  like  the  music  of 
peace,  the  harmony  of  Nature ;  handsome  heifers,  in 
groups  of  three  and  four,  were  reposing  on  the  green- 
sward, shaded  by  leafy  blinds  from  the  rays  of  the  sun  ; 
then,  far  from  all  houses,  and  alone,  a  fine  cow,  worthy 
of  the  regard  of  Argus,  was  peacefully  grazing.  The  soft 
notes  of  a  flute  floating  on  the  breeze  were  distinctly 

heard. 

"  Mercurius  septem  mulcet  aruudinibus." 

The  railway  —  that  colossale  entreprise,  which  runs 
from  Anvers  to  Lidge,  and  is  being  extended  to  Verviers 
—  is  cut  through  the  solid  rock,  and  runs  along  the 
valley.  Here  we  meet  a  bridge,  there  a  viaduct ;  and  at 
times  we  see  in  the  distance,  at  the  foot  of  an  immense 
rock,  a  group  of  dark  objects,  resembling  a  hillock  of 
ants,  busily  blasting  the  solid  granite. 

These  ants,  small  though  they  be,  perform  the  work 
of  giants. 

When  the  fissure  is  wide  and  deep,  a  strange  sound 
proceeds  from  the  interior;  in  fact,  one  might  imagine 
that  the  rock  is  making  known  its  grievances  by  the 
mouth  which  man  has  made. 

Verviers  is  an  insignificant  little  town,  divided  into 
three  quartiers,  called  Chick-Chack,  Brasse-Crotte,  and 
Dardanelle.  In  passing,  I  observed  a  little  urchin,  about 
six  years  of  age,  who,  seated  on  a  door-step,  was  smoking 


SIMBOURG.  71 

his  pipe,  with  all  the  magisterial  air  of  a  Grand  Turk. 
The  marmot  fumicr  looked  into  my  face,  and  burst  into 
a  fit  of  laughter,  which  made  me  conclude  that  my 
appearance  was  to  him  rather  ridiculous. 

After  Verviers,  the  road  skirts  the  Vesdre  as  far  as 
Simbourg.  Simbourg  —  that  town  of  counts,  that  -paU 
which  Louis  XIV.  found  had  a  crust  rather  hard  for 
mastication  —  is  at  present  a  dismantled  fortress. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.  —  THE   TOMB   OF   CHAKLEMAGNE. 

Legend  of  the  Wolf  and  Pineapple.  —  Charlemagne.  —  Barbarossa.  — 
The  Untombingof  Charlemagne.  —  Exhibition  of  Relics.  — Arm-chair 
of  Charlemagne.  —  The  Swiss  Guide.  —  Hotel-de-VLUe,  the  BLrthplace 
of  Charlemagne. 

1  "OR  an  invalid,  Aix-la-Chapelle  is  a  mineral  foun- 
■*-  tain,  —  warm,  cold,  irony,  and  sulphurous  ;  for  the 
tourist,  it  is  a  place  for  redoubts  and  concerts ;  for  the 
pilgrim,  the  place  of  relics,  where  the  gown  of  the  Virgin 
Mary,  the  blood  of  Jesus,  the  cloth  which  enveloped  the 
head  of  John  the  Baptist  after  his  decapitation,  are  ex- 
hibited every  seven  years;  for  the  antiquarian,  it  is  a 
noble  abbey  of  Jllles  d  ahhesse,  connected  with  the  male 
convent,  which  was  built  by  Saint  Gregory,  son  of 
Nicephorus,  Emperor  of  the  East ;  for  the  hunter,  it  is 
the  ancient  valley  of  the  wild  boars ;  for  the  merchant, 
it  is  a  fahrique  of  cloth,  needles,  and  pins ;  and  for  him 
who  is  no  merchant,  manufacturer,  hunter,  antiquary, 
pilgrim,  tourist,  or  invalid,  it  is  the  city  of  Charlemagne. 
Charlemagne  was  born  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  died 
there.  He  was  born  in  the  old  palace,  of  which  there 
now  only  remains  the  tower,  and  he  was  buried  in  the 
church  that  he  founded  in  796,  two  years  after  the  death 
of  his  wife,  Fastrada.     Leo  III.   consecrated  it  in  804, 


THE   WOLF  AND  TIIE   PINEArrLE.  73 

and  tradition  says  that  two  bishops  of  Tongres,  who 
were  buried  at  Maestricht,  arose  from  their  graves,  in 
order  to  complete  at  that  ceremony  three  hundred  and 
sixty-five  bishops  and  archbishops,  —  representing  the 
days  of  the  year. 

This  historical  and  legendary  church,  from  which  the 
town  has  taken  its  name,  has  undergone  during  the  last 
thousand  years  many  transformations. 

No  sooner  had  I  entered  Aix  than  I  went  to  the 
chapel. 

The  portail,  built  of  grey-blue  granite,  is  of  the  time 
of  Louis  XV.,  with  doors  of  the  eighth  century.  To  the 
right  of  the  portail,  a  large  bronze  ball,  like  a  pineapple, 
is  placed  upon  a  granite  pillar ;  and  on  the  opposite  side, 
on  another  pillar,  is  a  wolf,  of  the  same  metal,  which  is 
half  turned  towards  the  bystanders,  its  mouth  half  open 
and  its  teeth  displayed.  This  is  the  legend  of  the  wolf 
and  pineapple,  daily  recited  by  the  old  women  of  the 
place  to  the  inquiring  traveller :  — 

*'  A  long  time  ago,  the  good  people  of  Aix-la-Chapelle 
wished  to  build  a  church.  Money  was  put  aside  for  the 
purpose ;  the  foundation  was  laid,  the  walls  were  built, 
and  the  timber-work  was  commenced.  For  six  months 
there  was  nothing  heard  but  a  deafening  noise  of  saws, 
hammers,  and  axes  ;  but  at  the  expiration  of  that  period 
the  money  ran  short.  A  call  was  made  upon  the  pil- 
grims for  assistance,  and  a  plate  was  placed  at  the  door 
of  the  church,  but  scarcely  a  liard  was  collected.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  The  Senate  assembled,  and  proposed, 
argued,  advised,  and  consulted.     The  workmen  refused 


74  THE     RHINE. 

to  continue  their  labour.  The  grass,  the  brambles,  the 
ivy,  and  all  the  other  insolent  weeds  which  surround 
ruins,  clung  to  the  new  stones  of  the  abandoned  edifice. 
Was  there  no  other  alternative  than  that  of  discontinu- 
ing the  church  ?  The  glorious  Senate  of  burgomasters 
were  in  a  state  of  consternation. 

"  One  day,  in  the  midst  of  their  discussions,  a  strange 
man,  of  tall  stature  and  respectable  appearance,  entered. 

" '  Good-day,  gentlemen.  What  is  the  subject  of  dis- 
cussion ?  You  seem  bewildered.  Ah,  I  suppose  your 
church  weighs  heavy  at  your  hearts.  You  do  not  know 
how  to  finish  it.  People  say  that  money  is  the  chief 
requisite  for  its  completion.' 

" '  Stranger,'  said  one  of  the  Senate,  *  you  may  go  to 
the  devil !     It  would  take  a  million  of  money.' 

" '  There  is  a  million,'  said  the  unknown,  opening  the 
window,  and  pointing  to  a  chariot  drawn  by  oxen,  and 
guarded  by  twenty  negroes  armed  to  the  teeth. 

"  One  of  the  burgomasters  went  with  the  stranger  to 
the  carriage,  took  the  first  sack  that  came  to  his  hand, 
then  both  returned.  It  was  laid  before  the  Senate,  and 
found  to  be  full  of  gold. 

"The  burgomasters  looked  with  eyes  expressive  both 
of  foolishness  and  surprise,  and  demanded  of  the  stranger 
who  he  was. 

" '  My  dear  fellows,  I  am  the  man  who  has  money  at 
command.  What  more  do  you  require  ?  I  inhabit  the 
Black  Forest,  near  the  lake  of  Wildsee,  and  not  far  from 
the  ruins  of  Heidenstadt,  the  city  of  Pagans.  I  possess 
mines  of  gold  and  silver,  and  at  night  I  handle  millions 


THE   WOLF   AND  THE   PINEAPPLE.  75 

of  precious  stones.  But  I  have  strange  fancies ;  in 
fact,  I  am  an  unhappy,  melancholy  being,  passing  my 
days  in  gazing  into  the  transparent  lake,  watching  the 
tourniquet  and  the  water  tritons,  and  observing  the 
growth  of  the  polygonum  amphibium  among  the  rocks. 
But  a  truce  to  questions  and  idle  stories.  I  have  opened 
my  heart  —  profit  by  it !  There  is  your  million  of  money. 
Will  you  accept  it  ? ' 

"  '  Faith !  yes,'  said  the  Senate.  '  We  shall  finish  our 
church.' 

" '  Well,  it  is  yours,'  the  stranger  said ;  '  but  remember, 
there  is  a  condition.' 

"  '  What  is  it  ? ' 

"  '  Finish  your  church,  gentlemen.  Take  all  this  pre- 
cious metal ;  but  promise  me  in  exchange  the  first  soul 
that  enters  into  the  church  on  the  day  of  its  consecration.' 

"  '  You  are  the  devil ! '  cried  the  Senate. 

"  '  Yo2(,  are  imbeciles  !  '  replied  Urian. 

"  The  burgomasters  began  to  cross  themselves,  to  turn 
pale,  and  tremble ;  but  Urian,  who  was  a  queer  fellow, 
shook  the  bag  containing  the  gold,  laughed  till  he  almost 
split  his  sides,  and  soon,  gaining  the  confidence  of  the 
worthy  gentlemen,  a  negotiation  took  place.  The  devil 
is  a  clever  fellow ;  that  is  the  reason  that  he  is  a  devil. 

"  '  After  all,'  he  said,  '  I  am  the  one  who  will  lose  by 
the  bargain.  You  will  have  your  million  and  your 
church ;  as  for  me,  I  shall  only  have  a  soul.' 

"  '  Whose  soul,  sir  ? '  demanded  the  frightened  Senate. 

"  '  The  first  that  comes,  —  that,  perhaps,  of  some  cant- 
ing hypocrite,  who  to  appear  devout  and  to  show  his 


76  THE   RHINE. 

zeal  in  the  cause  will  enter  first.  But,  my  friends,  your 
church  promises  well.  The  plan  pleases  me;  and  the 
edifice,  in  my  opinion,  will  be  superb.  I  see  with  plea- 
sure that  your  architect  prefers  the  trompe-sous-le-coin  to 
that  of  Montpellier.  I  do  not  dislike  the  arched  vault ; 
but  still  I  would  have  preferred  a  ridged  one.  I  acknowl- 
edge that  he  has  made  the  doorway  very  tastefully ;  but 
I  am  not  sure  if  he  has  been  careful  about  the  thickness 
of  the  parpain.  What  is  the  name  of  your  architect  ? 
Tell  him,  from  me,  that  to  make  a  door  well,  there  must 
be  four  panels.  Nevertheless,  the  church  is  of  a  very 
good  style,  and  well  adjusted.  It  would  be  a  pity  to 
leave  off  what  has  been  so  well  begun ;  you  must  finish 
your  church.  Come,  my  friends,  the  million  for  you,  the 
soul  for  me.     Is  it  not  so  ? ' 

" '  After  all,'  thought  the  citizens,  '  we  ought  to  be 
satisfied  that  he  contents  himself  with  one  soul.  He 
might,  if  he  observed  attentively,  find  that  there  is 
scarcely  one  in  the  whole  place  that  does  not  belong 
to  him.' 

"  The  bargain  was  concluded,  the  million  was  locked 
up,  Urian  disappeared  in  a  blue  flame,  and  two  years 
afterwards  the  church  was  finished. 

"  You  must  know  that  all  the  senators  took  an  oath  to 
keep  the  transaction  a  profound  secret ;  and  it  must  also 
be  understood  that  each  of  them  on  the  very  same  eve- 
ning related  the  affair  to  his  wife.  When  the  church 
was  complete,  the  whole  town  —  thanks  to  the  wives  of 
the  senators  —  knew  the  secret  of  the  Senate,  and  no  one 
would  enter  the  church.     This  was  an  embarrassment 


THE   WOLF   AND   THE   PINEAPPLE.  77 

greater  even  than  the  first.  The  church  was  erected,  but 
no  one  would  enter ;  it  was  finished,  but  it  was  empty. 
What  good  was  a  church  of  this  description  ? 

"  The  Senate  assembled,  but  they  could  do  nothing  ; 
and  they  called  upon  the  Bishop  of  Tongres,  but  he  was 
equally  puzzled.  The  canons  of  the  church  were  con- 
sulted, but  to  no  avail.  At  last  the  monks  were 
brought  in. 

"  '  Good  heavens  ! '  said  one  of  them,  '  you  seem  to  stand 
on  trifles.  You  owe  Urian  the  first  soul  that  passes  the 
door  of  the  church ;  but  he  did  not  stipulate  as  to  the 
kind  of  soul.  I  assure  you  this  Urian  is  at  the  best  an 
ass !  Gentlemen,  after  a  severe  struggle,  a  wolf  was 
taken  alive  in  the  valley  of  Borcette.  Make  it  enter 
the  church.  Urian  must  be  contented ;  he  shall  have  a 
soul,  although  only  that  of  a  wolf.' 

"  '  Bravo  !  bravo  I '  shouted  the  Senate. 

"  At  the  dawn  of  the  following  day  the  bells  rang. 

"  '  What ! '  cried  the  inhabitants,  '  to-day  is  the  conse- 
cration of  the  church,  but  who  will  dare  to  enter  first  ? ' 

"  '  I  won't  I '  shouted  one.  '  Nor  I !  nor  I ! '  escaped 
from  the  lips  of  the  others. 

"  At  last  the  Senate  and  the  chapter  arrived,  followed 
by  men  carrying  the  wolf  in  a  cage.  A  signal  was  given 
to  open  the  door  of  the  church  and  that  of  the  cage 
simultaneously ;  the  wolf,  half  mad  from  fright,  rushed 
into  the  empty  church,  where  Urian  was  waiting,  his 
mouth  open  and  his  eyes  shut.  Judge  of  his  rage  when 
he  discovered  that  he  had  swallowed  a  wolf.  He  shouted 
tremendously,  flew  for  some  time  under  the  high  arches, 


78  THE   RHINE. 

making  a  noise  like  a  tempest,  and  on  going  out  gave 
the  door  a  furious  kick,  and  rent  it  from  top  to  bottom." 

It  is  upon  that  account,  say  the  old  dames,  that  a 
statue  of  the  wolf  has  been  placed  on  the  left  side  of  the 
church,  and  a  pineapple,  which  represents  its  poor  soul, 
on  the  right. 

I  must  add,  before  finishing  the  legend,  that  I  looked 
for  the  rent  made  by  the  heel  of  the  devil,  but  could  not 
find  it. 

On  approaching  the  chapel  of  the  great  portail  the 
effect  is  not  striking.  The  facade  displays  the  different 
styles  of  architecture  —  Roman,  Gothic,  and  modern  — 
without  order,  and  consequently  without  grandeur ;  but 
if,  on  the  contrary,  we  arrive  at  the  chapel  by  Chevet, 
the  result  is  otherwise.  The  high  apsis  of  the  four- 
teenth century,  in  all  its  boldness  and  beauty,  —  the  rich 
workmanship  of  its  balustrades,  the  variety  of  its  gar- 
goyles, the  sombre  hue  of  the  stones,  and  the  large  trans- 
parent windows,  —  strike  the  beholder  with  admiration. 

Here,  nevertheless,  the  aspect  of  the  church  —  impos- 
ing though  it  is  —  will  be  found  far  from  uniform.  Be- 
tween the  apsis  and  the  portail,  in  a  kind  of  cavity,  the 
dome  of  Otho  III.,  built  over  the  tomb  of  Charlemagne 
in  the  tenth  century,  is  hid  from  view.  After  a  few 
moments'  contemplation,  a  singular  awe  comes  over  us 
when  gazing  at  this  extraordinary  edifice,  —  an  edifice 
which,  like  the  great  work  that  Charlemagne  began, 
remains  unfinished ;  and  which,  like  his  empire  that 
spoke  all  languages,  is  composed  of  architecture  that 
represents  all  styles.     To  the  reflective,  there  is  a  strange 


TOMB  OF  CHARLEMAGNE.  79 

analogy  between   that   wonderful   man   and    this   great 
building. 

After  having  passed  the  arched  roof  of  the  portico,  and 
left  behind  me  the  antique  bronze  doors  surmounted  with 
lions'  heads,  a  white  rotundo  of  two  stories,  in  which  all 
the  fantaisies  of  architecture  are  displayed,  attracted  my 
attention.  At  casting  my  eyes  upon  the  ground,  I  per- 
ceired  a  large  block  of  black  marble,  with  the  following 
inscription  in  brass  letters  : — 

Carolo  Magno. 

Nothing  is  more  contemptible  than  to  see,  exposed  to 
view,  the  bastard  graces  that  surround  this  great  Carlo- 
vingian  name.  Angels  resembling  distorted  cupids, 
palm-branches  like  coloured  feathers,  garlands  of  flowers, 
and  knots  of  ribbons  are  placed  under  the  dome  of  Otho 
III.  and  upon  the  tomb  of  Charlemagne. 

The  only  thing  here  that  evinces  respect  to  the  shade 
of  that  great  man  is  an  immense  lamp,  twelve  feet  in 
diameter,  with  forty-eight  burners,  which  was  presented 
in  the  twelfth  century  by  Barbarossa.  It  is  of  gilded 
brass,  has  the  form  of  a  crown,  and  is  suspended  from  the 
ceiling  above  the  marble  block  by  an  iron  chain  about 
seventy  feet  in  length. 

It  is  evident  that  some  other  monument  had  been 
erected  to  Charlemagne.  There  is  nothing  to  convince 
us  that  this  marble,  bordered  with  brass,  is  of  antiquity. 
As  to  the  letters,  Cakolo  Magno,  they  are  not  of  an 
earlier  date  than  1730. 

Charlemagne  is  no  longer  under  this  stone.     In  1166 


80  THE  RHINE. 

Frederick  Barbarossa  —  whose  gift,  magnificent  though 
it  was,  does  by  no  means  compensate  for  this  sacrilege 
—  caused  the  remains  of  that  great  emperor  to  be 
untombed.  The  Church  claimed  the  imperial  skeleton, 
and,  separating  the  bones,  made  each  a  holy  relic.  In 
the  adjoining  sacristy  a  vicar  shows  the  people,  for 
three  francs  seventy-five  centimes  (the  fixed  price), 
the  arm  of  Charlemagne, —  that  arm  which  held  for  a 
time  the  reins  of  the  world.  Venerable  relic  !  which  has 
the  following  inscription,  written  by  some  scribe  of  the 
twelfth  century : — 

Brachium  Sancti  Caroli  Magni. 

After  that  I  saw  the  skull  of  Charlemagne,  that  cra- 
nium which  may  be  said  to  have  been  the  mould  of 
Europe,  and  which  a  beadle  had  the  effrontery  to  strike 
with  his  finger. 

All  are  kept  in  a  wooden  armory,  with  a  few  angels, 
similar  to  those  I  have  just  mentioned,  on  the  top. 
Such  is  the  tomb  of  the  man  whose  memory  has  outlived 
ten  ages,  and  who,  by  his  greatness,  has  shed  the  rays  of 
immortality  around  his  name.  Sanctus,  magnus,  belong 
to  him, —  two  of  the  most  august  epithets  which  this 
earth  could  bestow  upon  a  human  being. 

There  is  one  thing  astonishing, —  that  is,  the  largeness 


'O 


of  the  skull  and  arm.  Charlemagne  was,  in  fact,  colossal 
with  respect  to  size  of  body  as  well  as  extraordinary 
mental  endowments.  The  son  of  Pepin-le-Bref  was  in 
body,  as  in  mind,  gigantic  ;   of  great  corporeal  strength, 


and  of  astounding  intellect. 


EELICS  OF   CHARLEMAGNE.  81 

An  inspection  of  this  armory  has  a  strange  effect  upon 
the  antiquary.  Besides  the  skull  and  arm,  it  contains 
the  heart  of  Charlemagne ;  the  cross  which  the  emperor 
had  round  his  neck  in  his  tomb ;  a  handsome  ostensoir, 
of  the  Eenaissance,  given  by  Charles  V.,  and  spoiled  in 
the  last  century  by  tasteless  ornaments  ;  fourteen  richly 
sculptured  gold  plates,  which  once  ornamented  the  arm- 
chair of  the  emperor;  an  ostensoir,  given  by  Philippe  II. ; 
the  cord  which  bound  our  Saviour ;  the  sponge  that  was 
used  upon  the  cross  ;  the  girdle  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  and 
that  of  the  Eedeemer. 

In  the  midst  of  innumerable  ornaments,  heaped  up  in 
the  armory  like  mountains  of  gold  and  precious  stones, 
are  two  shrines  of  singular  beauty.  One,  the  oldest, 
which  is  seldom  opened,  contains  the  remaining  bones  of 
Charlemagne ;  and  the  other,  of  the  twelfth  century, 
which  Frederick  Barbarossa  gave  to  the  church,  holds 
the  relics  which  are  exhibited  every  seven  years.  A 
single  exhibition  of  this  shrine,  in  1696,  attracted  forty- 
two  thousand  pilgrims,  and  drew  in  ten  days  eighty 
thousand  florins. 

This  shrine  has  only  one  key,  which  is  in  two  pieces  ; 
the  one  is  in  the  possession  of  the  chapter,  the  other  in 
that  of  the  magistrates  of  the  town.  Sometimes  it  is 
opened  on  extraordinary  occasions,  such  as  on  the  visit 
of  a  monarch. 

In  a  small  armory,  adjoining  the  one  mentioned,  I  saw 
an  exact  imitation  of  the  Germanic  crown  of  Charlemagne. 
That  which  he  wore  as  Emperor  of  Germany  is  at 
Vienna ;  the  one  as  King  of  France,  at  Rheims  ;  and  the 
other,  as  King  of  Lombardy,  is  at  Menza,  near  Milan. 

VOL.    XXVII.  6 


82  THE   RHINE. 

On  going  out  of  the  sacristy,  the  beadle  gave  orders  to 
one  of  the  menials,  a  Swiss,  to  show  me  the  interior  of 
the  chapel.  The  first  object  that  fixed  my  attention  was 
the  pulpit,  presented  by  the  Emperor  Henry  II.,  which 
is  extravagantly  ornamented  and  gilt,  in  the  style  of  the 
eleventh  century.  To  the  right  of  the  altar,  the  heart  of 
M.  Antoine  Berdolet,  the  first  and  last  Bishop  of 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  is  encased.  That  church  had  but 
one  bishop,  —  he  whom  Bonaparte  named  "  Primus 
Aquisgranensis  Episcopus." 

In  a  dark  room  in  the  chapel  my  conductor  opened 
another  armory,  which  contained  the  sarcophagus  of 
Charlemagne.  It  is  a  magnificent  coffin  of  white  marble, 
upon  which  the  carrying  off  of  Proserpine  is  sculptured. 
The  fair  girl  is  represented  as  making  desperate  efforts  to 
disentangle  herself  from  the  grasp  of  Pluto,  but  the  god 
has  seized  her  half-naked  neck,  and  is  forcing  her  head 
against  Minerva.  Some  of  the  nymphs,  the  attendants 
of  Proserpine,  are  in  eager  combat  with  Furies,  while 
others  are  endeavouring  to  stop  the  car,  which  is  drawn 
by  two  dragons.  A  goddess  has  boldly  seized  one  of 
them  by  the  wing,  and  the  animal,  to  all  appearance,  is 
crying  hideously.  This  bas-relief  is  a  poem,  powerful 
and  startling,  like  the  pictures  of  pagan  Eome,  and  like 
some  of  those  of   Eubens. 

The  tomb,  before  it  became  the  sarcophagus  of  Charle- 
magne, was,  it  is  said,  that  of  Augustus. 

After  mounting  a  narrow  staircase,  my  guide  conducted 
me  to  a  gallery  which  is  called  the  Hochmunster.  In 
this  place  is  the  arm-chair  of  Charlemagne.  It  is  low, 
exceedingly  wide,  with  a  round  back ;  is  formed  of  four 


FREDERICK  BARBAROSSA.  83 

pieces  of  white  marble,  without  ornaments  or  sculpture, 
and  has  for  a  seat  an  oak  board,  covered  with  a  cushion 
of  red  velvet.  There  are  six  steps  up  to  it,  two  of  which 
are  of  granite,  the  others  of  marble.  On  this  chair  sat  — 
a  crown  upon  his  head,  a  globe  in  one  hand,  a  sceptre  in 
the  other,  a  sword  by  his  side,  the  imperial  mantle  over 
his  shoulders,  the  cross  of  Christ  round  his  neck,  and 
his  feet  in  the  sarcophagus  of  Augustus  —  Charlemagne 
in  his  tomb,  in  which  attitude  he  remained  for  three 
hundred  and  fourteen  years  (from  852  to  1166),  when 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  coveting  the  chair  for  his  corona- 
tion, entered  the  tomb.  Barbarossa  was  an  illustrious 
prince  and  a  valiant  soldier ;  and  it  must,  therefore,  have 
been  a  moment  singularly  strange  when  this  crowned 
man  stood  before  the  crowned  corpse  of  Charlemagne,  — 
the  one  in  all  the  majesty  of  empire,  the  other  in  all  the 
majesty  of  death.  The  soldier  overcame  the  shades  of 
greatness  ;  the  living  became  the  despoliator  of  inanimate 
worth.  The  chapel  claimed  the  skeleton,  and  Barbarossa 
the  marble  chair,  which  afterwards  became  the  throne 
where  thirty-six  emperors  were  crowned.  Ferdinand  I. 
was  the  last ;  Charles  V.  preceded  him.  Afterwards  the 
German  emperors  were  crowned  at  Frankfort. 

I  remained  spell-bound  near  this  chair,  so  simple,  yet 
so  grand.  I  gazed  upon  the  marble  steps,  marked  by  the 
feet  of  those  thirty-six  Caesars  who  had  here  seen  the 
bursting  forth  of  their  illustriousness,  and  who,  each  in 
his  turn,  had  ceased  to  be  of  the  living.  Thoughts 
started  in  my  mind,  recollections  flashed  across  my 
memory.      When    Frederick    Barbarossa    was    old,    he 


84  THE   RHINE. 

determined  for  the  second  or  third  time  to  engage  in  the 
Holy  War.  One  day  he  reached  the  banks  of  the  beauti- 
ful river  Cydnus,  and,  being  warm,  took  a  fancy  to  bathe. 
The  man  who  could  profane  the  tomb  of  Charlemagne 
might  well  forget  Alexander.  He  entered  the  river  ;  the 
cold  seized  him.  Alexander  was  young,  and  survived ; 
Barbarossa  was  old,  and  lost  his  life. 

It  appears  to  me  as  probable,  that,  one  day  or  another, 
the  pious  thought  will  strike  some  saint,  king,  or  emperor 
to  take  the  remains  of  Charlemagne  from  the  armory 
where  the  sacristans  have  placed  them,  gather  all 
that  still  exists  of  that  great  skeleton,  and  place  them 
once  more  in  the  arm-chair,  the  Carlovingian  diadem 
upon  the  skull,  the  globe  of  the  empire  on  the  arm,  and 
the  imperial  mantle  over  the  bones. 

This  would  be  a  magnificent  sight  for  him  who  dared 
to  look  at  the  apparition.  What  thoughts  would  crowd 
upon  his  mind  when  beholding  the  son  of  Pepin  in  his 
tomb,  —  he  who  equalled  in  greatness  Augustus  or 
Sesostris ;  he  who  in  fiction  is  a  knight-errant  like 
Eoland,  a  magician  like  Merlin ;  for  religion,  a  saint, 
like  Peter  or  Jerome ;  for  philosophy,  civilization  per- 
sonifies him,  and  every  thousand  years  assumes  a  giant 
form  to  traverse  some  profound  abyss,  —  civil  wars, 
barbarism,  revolutions ;  which  calls  himself  at  one 
time  Csesar,  then  Charlemagne,  and  at  another  time 
Napoleon. 

In  1804,  when  Bonaparte  became  known  as  Napoleon, 
he  visited  Aix-la-Chapelle.  Josephine,  who  accompanied 
him,  had  the  caprice  to  sit  down   on  this  chair;    but 


THE  SWISS  GUIDE.  85 

Napoleon,  out  of  respect  for  Charlemagne,  took  off  his 
hat,  and  remained  for  some  time  standing,  and  in  silence. 
The  following  fact  is  somewhat  remarkable,  and  struck 
me  forcibly :  In  814  Charlemagne  died ;  a  thousand 
years  afterwards,  most  probably  about  the  same  hour, 
Napoleon  fell. 

In  that  fatal  year,  1814,  the  allied  sovereigns  visited 
the  tomb  of  the  great  Charles.  Alexander  of  liussia,  like 
Napoleon,  took  off  his  hat  and  uniform;  Frederick 
William  of  Prussia  kept  on  his  casquette  de  petite  tenue  ; 
Francis  retained  his  surtout  and  round  bonnet.  The 
King  of  Prussia  stood  upon  the  marble  steps,  receiving 
information  from  the  provost  of  the  chapter  respecting 
the  coronation  of  the  emperors  of  Germany ;  the  two 
emperors  remained  silent.  Napoleon,  Josephine,  Alex- 
ander, Frederick  William,  and  Francis,  are  now  no 
more. 

My  guide,  who  gave  me  these  details,  was  an  old 
French  soldier.  Formerly  he  shouldered  his  musket,  and 
marched  at  the  sound  of  the  drum ;  now,  he  carries  a 
halberd  in  the  clerical  ceremonies  before  the  chapter. 
This  man,  who  speaks  to  travellers  of  Charlemagne,  has 
Napoleon  nearest  his  heart.  When  he  spoke  of  the 
battles  in  which  he  had  fought,  of  his  old  comrades, 
and  of  his  colonel,  the  tears  streamed  from  his  eyes.  He 
knew  that  I  was  a  Frenchman ;  and,  on  my  leaving, 
said  with  a  solemnity  which  I  shall  never  forget,  — 

"  You  can  say,  sir,  that  you  saw  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  an 
old  soldier  of  the  36th  Swiss  regiment." 

Then,  a  moment  afterwards,  added,  — 


86  THE   RHINE. 

"  You  can  also  state  that  he  belongs  to  three  nations,  — 
Prussian  by  birth,  Swiss  by  profession,  but  his  whole 
heart  is  French." 

On  quitting  the  chapel  I  was  so  much  absorbed  in 
reflection,  that  I  all  but  passed  a  lovely  facade  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  ornamented  with  the  statues  of 
seven  emperors.  I  was  awakened  from  my  reverie  by 
the  sudden  bursts  of  laughter  which  escaped  from  two 
travellers,  the  elder  of  whom,  I  was  told  in  the  morning 
by  my  landlord,  was  M.  le  Comte  d'A.,  of  the  most  noble 
family  of  Artois. 

"  Here  are  names  !  "  they  cried.  "  It  certainly  required 
a  revolution  to  form  such  names  as  these.  Le  Capitaiue 
Lasoupe,  and  Colonel  Graindorge." 

I  could  not  help  answering,  "  I  am  just  about  to  tell 
you,  gentlemen,  why  there  are  such  names.  Colonel 
Graindorge  was  a  connection  of  Marshal  de  Lorge,  father- 
in-law  of  the  Duke  of  Saint  Simon ;  and  as  to  Captain 
Lasoupe,  he  was  probably  a  relative  of  the  Duke  of 
Bouillon,  uncle  of  the  Elector  Palatine." 

Some  moments  after,  I  was  on  the  square  of  the  Hotel- 
de-Ville,  w^iich  I  hastened  to  visit. 

The  Hotel-de-Ville,  like  the  Chapelle,  is  composed  of 
five  or  six  other  buildings.  From  the  two  sides  of  a 
gloomy  fagade,  with  long  narrow  windows,  rise  two  towers 
of  the  time  of  Charles  V.,  —  the  one  low  and  broad,  the 
other  high,  slender,  and  quadrangular.  The  second  tower 
is  a  fine  structure  of  the  fourteenth  century.  The  first 
is  the  famous  tower  of  Granus,  hardly  recognizable  under 
the  queer  steeple  by  which  it  is  crowned.     This  steeple, 


h6tel-de-ville.  87 

which  is  smaller  than  that  of  the  other  tower,  resembles 
a  pyramid  of  gigantic  turbans  of  all  forms  and  all  dimen- 
sions, placed  one  over  the  other,  and  growing  smaller 
as  they  reach  the  top.  At  the  bottom  of  the  facade  is 
an  immense  staircase,  constructed  like  the  staircase  of 
the  Cheval-Blanc  at  Fontainebleau.  In  the  centre  of 
the  square  there  is  a  marble  fountain  belonging  to  the 
Eenaissance,  repaired  and  somewhat  remodelled  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  surmounted  by  a  bronze  statue  of 
Charlemagne,  armed  and  crowned.  At  the  right  and  left 
are  two  other  smaller  fountains,  bearing  on  their  sum- 
mits two  black  and  ferocious-looking  eagles,  half-turned 
towards  the  grave  and  tranquil  emperor.  It  was  on  this 
site,  perhaps  in  this  Roman  tower,  that  Charlemagne  was 
born.  Fountain,  faqade,  and  towers  are  all  royal,  melan- 
choly, and  severe.  The  whole  ensemble  brings  Charle- 
magne vividly  before  the  mind  of  the  spectator.  The 
disparities  of  the  structure  are  concentrated  in  a  potent 
unity.  The  tower  of  Granus  recalls  Eome,  his  precursor ; 
the  facade  and  fountains  recall  Charles  V.,  the  greatest 
of  his  successors.  The  Oriental  form  of  the  steeple  makes 
you  have  vague  thoughts  of  that  magnificent  caliph, 
Haroun-Al-Raschid,  his  friend. 

The  evening  was  approaching.  I  had  passed  the  whole 
of  the  day  among  these  grand  and  austere  souvenirs  ;  and 
therefore  deemed  it  essential  to  take  a  walk  in  the  open 
fields,  to  breathe  the  fresh  air,  and  to  watch  the  rays  of 
the  declining  sun.  I  wandered  along  some  dilapidated 
walls,  entered  a  field,  then  some  beautiful  alleys,  in  one 
of  which  I  seated  myself.     Aix-la-Chapelle  lay  extended 


88  THE  RHINE. 

before  me,  partly  hid  by  the  shades  of  evening,  which 
were  falling  around.  By  degrees  the  fogs  gained  the 
roofs  of  the  houses,  and  shrouded  the  town  steeples  ; 
then  nothing  was  seen  but  two  hugh  masses,  —  the 
Hotel-de-Ville  and  the  chapel.  All  the  emotions,  all 
the  thoughts  and  visions  which  flitted  across  my  mind 
during  the  day,  now  crowded  upon  me.  The  first  of  the 
two  dark  objects  was  to  me  only  the  birthplace  of  a 
child  ;  the  second  was  the  resting-place  of  greatness.  At 
intervals,  in  the  midst  of  my  reverie,  I  imagined  that  I 
saw  the  shade  of  this  giant,  whom  we  call  Charlemagne, 
developing  itself  between  this  great  cradle  and  still 
greater  tomb. 


CHAPTEE  X. 

COLOGNE. —  THE    BANKS    OF    THE    KHINE. —  ANDEKNAGH. 

Deuz.  —  Cathedral  of  Cologne.  —  The  Peasantry.  —  The  Strolling 
Musician.  —  Personifiers  of  the  gods  Goulu,  Gluton,  Gonifre,  and 
Gouliaf.  —  Dome  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne.  —  Epitaph.  —  Tomb 
of  the  Three  Wise  Men  of  the  East.  —  Destiny,  —  The  H6tel-de- 
Ville.  —  The  Three  Bas-reliefs.—  The  Epic  Poet  of  Cologne.— 
Cologne  at  Night.  —  Time  and  its  Effects. 

I  AM  angry  with  myself,  my  dear  friend,  for  having 
passed  through  Cologne  like  a  barbarian.  I  spent 
scarcely  forty-eight  hours  there,  and  I  reckoned  on 
spending  a  fortnight.  But  after  an  entire  week  of  fog 
and  rain,  the  sun  shone  so  brilliantly  on  the  Ehine  that 
I  determined  to  profit  by  the  magnificent  weather  and 
view  the  river  in  all  its  glory  and  joy.  I  therefore 
started  from  Cologne  this  morning  by  the  steamboat 
Cockerill.  I  left  the  city  of  Agrippa  behind  me  and 
saw  neither  the  old  pictures  of  Saint  Maria  at  the 
Capitol ;  nor  the  mosaic  pavement  of  the  crypt  of  Saint 
Gereon ;  nor  the  crucifixion  of  Saint  Peter,  painted  by 
Eubens  for  the  old  half  Eoman  church  of  Saint  Peter 
where  he  was  baptized;  nor  the  bones  of  the  eleven 
thousand  virgins  in  the  cloister  of  the  Ursulines ;  nor 
the  body  of  the  martyr  Albinus,  which  putrefaction  never 
touches ;  nor  the  silver  sarcophagus  of  Saint  Cunibert ; 


90  THE   RHINE. 

nor  the  tomb  of  Duns  Scotus  in  the  church  of  the 
Minorites ;  nor  the  sepulchre  of  the  Empress  Theophania, 
wife  of  Otto,  in  the  church  of  Saint  Pantaleon  ;  nor  the 
Maternus-Gruft  in  the  church  of  Saint  Lisolphus  ;  nor 
the  two  golden  rooms  of  Saint  Ursula  and  the  Dome ; 
nor  the  hall  of  the  diets  of  the  empire,  to-day  a  commer- 
cial depot ;  nor  the  old  arsenal,  to-day  a  corn-warehouse. 
I  have  seen  nothing  of  all  these :  absurd,  if  you  like, 
but  true. 

What,  then,  did  T  visit  at  Cologne  ?  The  cathe- 
dral and  the  town-hall ;  nothing  more.  It  is  only  of  a 
wonderful  city  like  Cologne  that  it  can  be  said,  "  To  see 
these  was  not  to  see  a  great  deal ; "  for  both  are  rare 
and  marvellous  edifices. 

I  reached  Cologne  after  sunset.  I  directed  my  steps 
at  once  to  the  cathedral,  after  handing  my  valise  to  one 
of  those  worthy  porters  in  a  blue  uniform  with  orange 
collar,  who  in  this  country  are  in  the  service  of  the  King 
of  Prussia,  —  an  excellent  and  lucrative  employment,  I 
assure  you ;  the  traveller  is  roundly  taxed,  and  porter  and 
king  share  the  spoil  between  them.  Here,  I  mention 
a  detail  worth  noting :  before  leaving  my  worthy  friend, 
the  porter,  I  ordered  him,  to  his  amazement,  to  carry  my 
luggage,  not  to  a  hotel  in  Cologne,  but  to  a  hotel  in  Deuz, 
—  a  little  town  on  the  other  side  of  the  Ehine,  connected 
with  Cologne  by  a  bridge  of  boats.  This  was  my  reason : 
when  I  have  to  stay  several  days  at  an  inn,  I  select  as  far 
as  possible  the  windows  that  look  out  on  certain  landscapes. 
Now,  the  windows  of  Cologne  look  towards  Deuz,  and  the 
windows  of  Deuz  look  towards  Cologne.     And  so  I  took 


COLOGNE   CATHEDRAL.  91 

my  lodging  at  Deuz,  guided  by  this  incontestable  prin- 
ciple :  Better  live  in  Deuz  and  see  Cologne  than  live  in 
Cologne  and  see  Deuz. 

Once  alone,  I  walked  around  in  search  of  the  Dome, 
expecting  to  see  it  at  every  corner  of  the  street.  But  I 
did  not  know  what  an  intricate  city  this  is.  Night 
came  on,  and  the  darkness  grew  palpable  in  the  narrow 
streets  ;  I  am  not  fond  of  asking  my  way,  and  so  I  roamed 
about  for  a  long  time  at  random. 

At,  last  after  wandering  through  a  kind  of  gateway, 
which  ended  in  a  corridor  on  the  left,  I  suddenly  found 
myself  in  a  large  open  square,  which  was  perfectly  dark 
and  solitary.  A  magnificent  spectacle  now  presented 
itself.  Before  me  in  the  fantastic  light  of  the  twilight, 
rose,  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  low  houses  an 
enormous  black  mass,  studded  with  pinnacles  and  bel- 
fries. A  little  farther  was  another,  not  quite  so  broad  as 
the  first,  but  higher ;  a  kind  of  square  fortress,  flanked 
at  its  angles  with  four  long  detached  towers,  having  on 
its  summit  something  resembling  a  huge  feather.  On 
approaching,  I  discovered  that  it  was  the  Cathedral  of 
Cologne. 

What  appeared  like  a  large  feather  was  a  crane,  to  which 
sheets  of  lead  were  appended,  and  which,  from  its  workable 
appearance,  indicated  to  passers-by  that  this  unfinished 
temple  may  one  day  be  completed  ;  that  the  dream  of 
Engelbert  of  Berg,  which  was  realized  under  Conrad  of 
Hochstetten,  may,  in  an  age  or  two,  be  the  greatest  cathe- 
dral in  the  world.  This  incomplete  Iliad  sees  Homers  in 
futurity. 


92  THE   RHINE. 

The  church  was  shut.  I  surveyed  the  steeples,  and  was 
startled  at  their  dimensions.  What  I  had  taken  for  towers 
are  the  projections  of  the  buttresses.  Though  only  the 
first  story  is  completed,  the  building  is  already  nearly  as 
high  as  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame  at  Paris.  Should  the 
spire,  according  to  the  plan,  be  placed  upon  this  mon- 
strous trunk,  Strasburg  would  be,  comparatively  speaking, 
small  by  its  side.  It  has  always  struck  me  that  nothing 
resembles  ruin  more  than  an  unfinished  edifice.  Briers, 
saxifrages,  and  pellitories  —  indeed,  all  weeds  that  root 
themselves  in  the  crevices  and  at  the  base  of  old  buildings 
—  have  besieged  these  venerable  walls.  Man  only  con- 
structs what  Nature  in  time  destroys. 

All  was  quiet ;  there  was  no  one  near  to  break  the  pre- 
vailing silence.  I  approached  the  facade,  as  near  as  the 
gate  would  permit  me,  and  heard  the  countless  shrubs 
gently  rustling  in  the  night  breeze.  A  light  which  appeared 
at  a  neighbouring  window  cast  its  rays  upon  a  group  of 
exquisite  statues,  —  angels  and  saints,  reading  or  preach- 
ing, with  a  large  open  book  before  them.  Admirable 
prologue  for  a  church,  which  is  nothing  else  than  the 
Word  made  marble,  brass,  or  stone !  Swallows  have  fear- 
lessly taken  up  their  abode  here,  and  their  simple  yet 
curious  masonry  contrasts  strangely  with  the  architecture 
of  the  building. 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne. 

By-the-by,  I  have  told  nothing  of  the  road  between  it 
and  Aix-la-Chapelle.  In  fact,  very  little  can  be  said,  —  a 
green  plain,  with  an  occasional  oak  and  a  few  poplar-trees, 
alone  meet  the  eye.      In   the    villages,  the   old   female 


ON  THE   ROAD   TO   AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.  93 

peasants,  enveloped  in  long  mantles  walk  about  like 
spectres ;  while  the  young,  clothed  in  short  ptpons  are 
seen  on  their  knees,  washing  the  door-steps.  As  for  the 
men,  they  are  decorated  with  blue  smock-frocks  and  high- 
crowned  hats,  as  if  they  were  the  peasants  of  a  constitu- 
tional country. 

Scarcely  a  single  person  was  seen  on  the  road ;  the  in- 
clemency of  the  weather  was,  perhaps,  the  cause.  A  poor 
strolling  musician  passed,  —  a  stick  in  one  hand,  and  his 
cornet-a-piston  in  the  other.  He  was  clothed  in  a  blue 
coat,  a  fancy  waistcoat,  and  white  trousers,  with  bottoms 
turned  up  as  high  as  the  legs  of  his  boots.  The  pauvre 
diahle,  from  the  knees  upwards,  was  fitted  out  for  ei,  ball ; 
his  lower  extremities,  however,  were  better  suited  for  the 
road.  In  a  little  square  village,  in  front  of  an  auherge,  I 
admired  four  jolly-looking  travellers  seated  before  a  table 
loaded  with  flesh,  fish,  and  wines.  One  was  drinking,  an- 
other cutting,  a  third  eating,  a  fourth  devouring,  —  like 
four  personifications  of  Voraciousness  and  Gourmandism. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  beheld  the  gods  Goulu,  Glouton, 
Gonifre,  and  Gouliaf  seated  round  a  mountain  of  eat- 
ables. 

However,  the  inns  are  excellent  in  this  country,  the  one 
in  which  I  lodged  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  (The  Emperor)  being 
an  exception.  It  was  only  passable.  To  keep  me  warm,  I 
had  a  magnificent  carpet  in  my  room  —  painted  on 
the  floor !  This  carpet  probably  served  as  an  excuse  for 
the  exorbitant  charges  of  the  said  Gasthof. 

To  finish  with  Aix-la-Chapelle,  I  must  tell  you  that 
piracy  is  in  as  flourishing  a  condition  there  an  in  Belgium. 


94  THE   RHINE. 

In  a  main  street  opening  on  the  Town  Hall  I  found  my- 
self exposed  in  a  window  side  by  side  with  my  illustrious 
and  dear  friend  Lamartine.  The  pirated  portrait  executed 
by  the  Prussian  re-impression  was  somewhat  less  ugly  than 
all  these  horrible  caricatures  which  the  stall-keepers  and 
booksellers,  not  omitting  my  Paris  publishers,  sell  to  a 
credulous  and  frightened  public  as  my  exact  resemblance  ; 
an  abominable  calumny  against  which  I  here  solemnly 
protest.   Ccelum  hoc  et  conscia  sidera  testor. 

I  live  like  a  real  German.  I  dine  with  napkins  as  big 
as  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  sleep  in  sheets  as  big  as  the 
napkins.  I  eat  cherries  with  mutton,  and  prunes  with  hare, 
and  I  drink  excellent  Ehine  wine  and  Moselle,  which  an 
ingenious  Frenchman,  dining  near  me  yesterday,  pro- 
nounced a  vin  de  demoiselle  rather  than  a  vin  de  Moselle. 
The  same  Frenchman,  after  drinking  a  glass  of  water, 
formulated  this  axiom :  "  The  water  of  the  Rhine  is 
inferior  to  the  wine  of  the  Rhine." 

In  the  inns,  host  and  hostess,  waiters  and  chamber- 
maids speak  nothing  but  German,  as  a  rule ;  but  there  is 
always  one  waiter  who  speaks  French, —  a  French  indeed 
somewhat  coloured  by  the  Teutonic  milieu  in  which  it  is 
plunged  ;  but  this  variety  is  not  without  its  charm.  Yester- 
day I  heard  my  French  traveller  ask  the  waiter,  pointing 
to  the  dish  that  was  being  served,  "  Qu'est-ce  que  cela  ? " 
The  waiter  replied  with  dignity,  "  C'est  des  bichons." 
And  it  was  pigeons. 

Moreover,  a  Frenchman  like  myself,  who  does  not  know 
German,  loses  his  time  in  addressing  the  "  head-waiter " 
as  he  is  styled,  on  any  subjects  except  those  about  which 


COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL.  95 

there  are  questions  in  the  Traveller's  Guide.  He  is  only 
varnished  with  French.  Dig  a  little  and  you  will  find  the 
German,  the  pure  German,  the  deaf  German,  beneath  the 
surface. 

I  now  come  to  my  second  visit  to  the  Dome  of  Cologne. 

I  returned  to  it  in  the  morning.  This  masterpiece  of 
churches  is  approached  by  a  walled  court.  There,  you  are 
besieged  by  beggar-women.  While  relieving  them,  I  re- 
called the  fact  that  before  the  French  occupation  there 
were  twelve  thousands  mendicants  at  Cologne,  who  had 
the  privilege  of  transmitting  to  their  children  the  fixed 
and  special  positions  each  of  them  held.  This  institution 
has  disappeared.  Aristocracies  are  disappearing.  Our 
age  has  as  little  respect  for  hereditary  paupers  as  for 
hereditary  peers.  Beggars  have  no  longer  anything  to 
bequeath  to  their  families. 

Having  got  rid  of  the  beggars,  I  entered  the  church.  A 
forest  of  pillars  and  columns,  protected  at  their  base  by 
wooden  palisades  appeared  before  me,  losing  themselves 
at  the  top  in  a  scaffolding  of  surbased  vaultings,  con- 
structed of  planks,  and  of  diverse  curving  and  elevation  ; 
there  was  little  light  in  the  building,  for  all  these  low 
arches  do  not  permit  the  eye  to  rise  more  than  forty  feet. 
On  the  left  there  are  four  or  five  brilliantly  lighted 
windows,  descending  from  the  wooden  roof  to  the  stone 
pavement,  like  broad  sheets  of  topazes,  emeralds,  and 
rubies.  On  the  right  are  ladders,  pulleys,  ropes,  windlasses, 
trowels,  and  squares.  At  the  farther  extremity,  the  plain 
chanting,  the  grave  voices  of  the  chanters  and  preben- 
daries, the  beautiful  Latin  of  the  psalms  floating  through 


96  THE  KHINE. 

the  vault  mingled  with  clouds  of  incense,  the  organ  wail- 
ing with  ineffable  sweetness ;  and,  with  all  this,  the 
grinding  of  saws,  the  groaning  of  cranks,  the  stunning 
noise  of  hammers  on  boards,  made  up  the  entire  picture 
of  my  impressions  of  the  Dome  of  Cologne. 

This  Gothic  cathedral  married  to  a  carpenter's  shop,  this 
noble  canoness  brutally  espoused  by  a  stone-mason,  this 
great  lady  compelled  to  associate  patiently  her  august  and 
dignified  life,  her  chants  and  prayers  and  meditations, 
with  this  din,  with  the  gross  and  foul  language  of  these 
workmen,  —  such  a  mesalliance  produces  at  first  sight  a 
queer  impression ;  but  this  is  because  we  no  longer  see 
Gothic  cathedrals  a-building.  It  vanishes  as  soon  as  we 
begin  to  consider  that  after  all  nothing  is  more  simple. 
The  crane  of  the  steeple  has  a  meaning.  It  shows  that  the 
work  interrupted  in  1499  has  been  resumed.  All  this 
tumult  of  carpenters  and  stone-cutters  is  necessary.  The 
Cathedral  of  Cologne  is  being  continued,  and,  please  God  ! 
will  be  finished.  Nothing  can  be  better  than  this  comple- 
tion, if  they  only  know  how  to  accomplish  it. 

These  columns  supporting  wooden  arches  mark  out  the 
plan  of  the  nave  which  is  to  connect,  some  day  or  other, 
the  apsis  with  the  tower. 

I  examined  the  windows  of  this  magnificent  edifice, 
which  are  of  the  time  of  Maximilian,  painted  with  all  the 
extravagance  of  the  German  Renaissance.  On  one  of 
them  is  a  representation  of  the  genealogy  of  the  Holy 
Virgin.  At  the  bottom  of  the  picture,  Adam,  in  the  costume 
of  an  emperor,  is  lying  upon  his  back.  A  large  tree,  which 
fills  the  whole  pane,  is  growing  out  of  his  stomach,  and 


COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL.  97 

on  the  branches  appear  all  the  crowned  ancestors  of 
Mary, — David  playing  the  harp,  Solomon  in  deep  thought ; 
and  at  the  top  of  the  tree  a  flower  opens,  and  discloses  the 
Virgin  carrying  the  infant  Jesus. 

A  few  steps  farther  on  I  read  this  epitaph,  which 
breathes  sorrow  and  resignation  :  — 

Inclitvs  ante  fvi  comes  emvncivs, 
Vocitatvs,  hie  dece  prostratvs,  sub 
Tegor  vt  volvi.     Frishem,  sancte, 
Mevm  fero,  petre,  tibi  eomitatvni 
Et  mihi  redde  statvm,  te  precor, 
Etherevm  Hsec.     Lapidvm  massa 
Comitis  complectitvr  ossa. 

I  take  down  this  epitaph  exactly  as  it  is ;  it  is  in- 
scribed on  a  vertical  slab  of  stone  as  prose,  without  any 
indication  of  the  somewhat  barbarous  hexameters  and 
pentameters  that  form  each  distich.  The  closing  rhyming 
verse  has  a  false  quantity,  massa,  which  surprised  me,  for 
men  could  write  Latin  verses  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  left  aisle  of  the  transept  is  only  outlined  so  far, 
and  terminates  in  a  vast  oratory,  cold,  ugly,  and  badly 
furnished,  in  which  there  are  a  few  confessionals.  I 
hastened  to  return  to  the  church,  and,  on  leaving  the 
oratory,  three  things  struck  my  attention  almost  at 
the  same  time :  on  my  left,  a  charming  little  pulpit  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  cleverly  designed  and  very  delicately 
carved  in  black  oak ;  at  some  distance,  the  iron  railing  of 
the  choir,  a  rare  and  perfect  example  of  the  exquisite 
iron-work  of  the  fifteenth  century ;  and  before  me,  a 
very  beautiful  gallery  with  thick  pilasters  and  low  arches, 
in  the  style  of  our  own  prse-Eenaissance.     I  imagine  it 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  7 


98  THE  RHINE. 

was   built   for   our   unhappy   fugitive   queen,  Marie   de 
Medicis. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  choir,  in  an  elegant  rococo 
shrine,  the  eye  is  dazzled  by  a  genuine  Italian  Madonna, 
loaded  with  spangles  and  tinsel  as  well  as  the  Bambino. 
Beneath  this  opulent  madonna  with  bracelets  and  neck- 
laces of  pearls,  there  has  been  placed,  apparently  as  an 
antithesis,  a  massive  box  for  the  poor,  fashioned  after  the 
twelfth  century,  festooned  with  chains  and  padlocks  and 
half  sunk  in  a  coarsely  sculptured  block  of  granite.  It 
looked  like  a  block  of  wood  inserted  in  a  pavement. 

As  I  raised  my  eyes,  I  saw  hanging  from  the  ogive 
above  my  head  some  gilded  sticks  tied  to  a  transversal 
rod  of  iron.  Beside  the  sticks  was  this  inscription ; 
"  Quot  pendere  vides  baculos,  tot  episcopus  annos  huic 
Agrippinai  praefuit  ecclesise."  I  like  this  austere  method 
of  reckoning  the  years,  and  rendering  perpetually  visible 
to  the  archbishop  the  time  he  has  already  used  or  wasted. 
At  the  present  moment  three  sticks  are  hanging  from  the 
vault. 

The  choir  is  in  the  interior  of  this  celebrated  apsis, 
which  at  present,  so  to  say,  constitutes  the  whole  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Cologne,  for  the  spire  is  wanting  to  the 
tower,  and  the  church  has  not  yet  either  nave  or  tran- 
sept. 

This  choir  is  really  magnificent.  There  are  sacristies 
full  of  delicate  woodwork,  chapels  full  of  severe  sculpture  ; 
pictures  of  all  ages,  tombs  of  all  forms  ;  bishops  of  granite 
reposing  in  a  fortress,  bishops  of  touchstone  resting  on 
beds  upborne  by  a  procession  of  weeping  angels,  bishops 


COLOGNE  CATHEDRAL.  99 

of  marble  sleeping  under  a  lattice-work  of  iron,  bishops  of 
bronze  lying  on  the  ground,  bishops  of  wood  kneeling 
before  altars ;  lieutenant-generals  of  the  time  of  Louis 
XVI.  with  elbows  leaning  on  their  sepulchres,  crusading 
knights  with  their  dogs  leaning  lovingly  against  their 
mailed  heels ;  statues  of  the  Apostles  clad  in  golden  robes  ; 
oaken  confessionals  with  twisted  columns,  noble  canoni- 
cal stalls,  baptismal  fonts  that  have  the  form  of  sarco- 
phagi ;  altar  stones  laden  with  little  statues ;  fragments 
of  stained  glass  ;  annunciations  of  the  fifteenth  century 
on  a  gold  ground  with  rich  multi-coloured  wings  above  and 
white  ones  below,  belonging  to  angels  that  seem  to  look 
at  the  Virgin  with  a  somewhat  daring  expression  ;  tap- 
estries wrought  after  designs  by  Eubens  ;  iron-work  that 
looks  as  if  it  came  from  Quentin  Matsays,  and  cabinets 
with  painted  and  gilt  shutters  that  might  have  been 
made  by  Franc-Floris. 

All  this,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  in  a  shamefully  shattered 
condition.  If  some  one  or  other  is  engaged  in  the  com- 
pletion of  the  cathedral  exteriorly,  some  one  else  is  doing 
all  he  can  to  ruin  it  interiorly.  There  is  not  a  tomb  on 
which  the  figures  have  not  been  destroyed  or  maimed  ; 
not  an  iron  railing  which  does  not  show  rusting  in  place  of 
gilding.  Dust  and  filth  are  everywhere.  Flies  dishonour 
the  venerable  face  of  Archbishop  Philip  of  Heinsberg, 
and  the  man  of  bronze  resting  on  the  flagstone  —  Conrad 
of  Hochstetten  who  was  to  have  built  the  cathedral  — 
cannot  break  the  cobwebs  which  hold  him  bound  today, 
like  another  Gulliver,  under  their  numberless  threads. 
Alas  !  arms  of  bronze  are  not  as  strong  as  arms  of  flesh. 


100  THE  RHINE, 

I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  a  statue  of  a  bearded  old 
man,  which  I  saw  lying  in  some  obscure  corner,  broken 
and  mutilated,  is  that  of  Michael  Angelo.  This  reminds 
me  that,  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  I  had  a  view  of  those  famous 
colums  of  antique  marble  taken  by  Napoleon  and  retaken 
by  Bliicher.  They  lay  in  a  corner  of  the  old  cloister 
burying-ground,  like  trunks  of  trees  awaiting  the  saw- 
pit.  Napoleon  had  taken  them  to  place  them  in  the 
Louvre  ;  Blucher  retook  them  to  place  them  in  a  charnel- 
house. 

One  of  the  questions  I  put  to  myself  oftenest  is,  "  Cui 
bono  ? " 

Amid  all  this  degradation  I  have  only  seen  two  tombs 
that  were  somewhat  respected  and  sometimes  dusted,  — 
the  cenotaphs  of  the  Counts  of  Schauenburg.  The  Counts 
of  Schauenburg  would  seem  to  form  one  of  those  couples 
anticipated  by  Virgil.  Both  were  brothers,  both  were 
Archbishops  of  Cologne,  both  were  entered  in  the  same 
choir,  both  have  fine  tombs  of  the  seventeenth  century 
erected  opposite  each  other.  Adolphus  can  gaze  on  his 
brother  Antony. 

I  will  now  mention  the  most  venerable  structure  which 
this  church  contains,  —  that  of  the  famed  tomb  of  the 
Three  Wise  Men  of  the  East. 

The  room  is  of  marble,  is  rather  large,  and  represents 

the  styles  of  Louis  XIII.  and  Louis  XIV.     On  raising  our 

eyes,  we  perceive  a  bas-relief  representing  the  adoration 

of  the  three  kings,  and,  underneath,  the  inscription,  — 

Corpora  sanctorum  recubant  hie  tema  magorum. 
Ex  his  sublatum  nihil  est  alibive  locatum. 


TOMB  OF  THE  WISE  MEN.  101 

This,  then,  is  the  resting-place  of  the  three  poetic  kings 
of  the  East.  Indeed,  there  is  no  legend  that  pleases  me 
so  much  as  this  of  the  "  Thousand  and  One  Nights."  I  ap- 
proached the  tomb,  and  perceived  in  the  shade  a  massive 
reliquary,  sparkling  with  pearls,  diamonds,  and  other 
precious  stones,  which  seemed  to  relate  the  history  of 
these  three  kings,  db  oriente  venerunt  In  front  of  the 
tomb  are  three  lamps,  the  one  bearing  the  name  of 
Gasper,  the  other  Melchior,  and  the  third  Balthazar.  It 
is  an  ingenious  idea  to  have  —  somehow  illuminated  — 
the  names  of  the  three  wise  men  in  front  of  the 
sepulchre. 

On  leaving,  something  pierced  the  sole  of  my  boot.  T 
looked  downwards,  and  found  that  it  was  a  large  nail 
projecting  from  a  square  of  black  marble,  upon  which  I 
was  walking.  After  examining  the  stone,  I  remembered 
that  Marie  de  Medicis  had  desired  that  her  heart  should 
be  placed  under  the  pavement  of  the  Cathedral  of 
Cologne,  and  before  the  tomb  of  the  three  kings. 
Formerly  a  bronze  or  brass  plate,  with  an  inscription, 
covered  it ;  but  when  the  French  took  Cologne,  some 
revolutionist,  or  perhaps  a  rapacious  brazier,  seized  it,  as 
had  been  done  by  many  others,  —  for  a  host  of  brass  nails, 
projecting  from  the  marble,  bespeak  depredations  of  a 
similar  nature.  Alas  !  poor  queen.  She  first  saw  herself 
effaced  from  the  heart  of  Louis  XIII.,  her  son  ;  then  from 
the  remembrance  of  Eichelieu,  her  creature ;  and  now 
she  is  effaced  from  the  earth. 

How  strange  are  the  freaks  of  destiny !  Marie  de 
Medicis,  widow  of  Henry  IV.,  exiled  and  abandoned,  had  a 


102  THE  RHINE. 

daughter  Henrietta,  widow  of  Charles  I.,  who  died  at 
Cologne  in  1642,  in  the  house  where,  sixty-five  years 
before,  Eubens,  her  painter,  was  born. 

The  Dome  of  Cologne,  when  seen  by  day,  appeared  to 
me  to  have  lost  a  little  of  its  sublimity ;  it  no  longer  had 
what  I  call  la  grandeur  crepusculaire  that  the  evening 
lends  to  huge  objects.  The  line  is  always  beautiful,  but 
there  is  a  certain  dryness  in  the  profile.  This  perhaps 
arises  from  the  sort  of  fury  with  which  the  present 
architect  sets  about  retouching  and  restoring  this  vener- 
able apsis.  When  ancient  churches  are  being  repaired  it 
would  be  as  well  not  to  try  to  make  everything  new. 
After  such  an  operation  the  very  attempt  to  bring  out 
the  lines  tends  to  diminish  their  force,  and  the  myste- 
rious vagueness  of  the  contours  vanishes  entirely.  As 
matters  now  stand,  I  prefer  the  half-finished  tower  to  the 
completed  apsis.  In  any  case,  with  all  due  respect  for 
the  opinions  of  the  ultra-refined  who  would  have  us 
believe  that  the  Dome  of  Cologne  is  the  Parthenon  of 
Christian  architecture,  I  do  not  see  any  reason  for  pre- 
ferring this  outline  of  a  cathedral  to  our  finished  old 
cathedrals  of  Amiens,  Eheims,  Chartres,  and  Paris  ;  and 
I  must  say  that  the  cathedral  of  Beauvais,  which  is 
scarcely  known,  is  not  inferior,  either  in  size  or  in  detail, 
to  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne. 

The  H6tel-de-Ville,  situated  near  the  cathedral,  is  one 
of  those  singular  edifices  which  have  been  built  at 
different  times,  and  which  consist  of  all  the  styles  of 
architecture  seen  in  ancient  buildings.  The  mode  in 
which  these   edifices   have  been  built   forms  rather  an 


THE  h6tel-de-ville.  103 

interesting  study.  Nothing  is  regular;  no  fixed  plan 
has  been  drawn  out ;  all  has  been  built  as  necessity 
required. 

Thus  the  H6tel-de-Ville,  which  has,  probably,  some 
Eoman  cave  near  its  foundation,  was,  in  1250,  only  a 
structure  similar  to  those  of  our  edifices  built  with  pillars. 
For  the  convenience  of  the  night-watchman,  and  in  order 
to  sound  the  alarum,  a  steeple  was  required,  and  in  the 
fourteenth  century  a  tower  was  built.  Under  Maximilian 
a  taste  for  elegant  structures  was  everywhere  spread,  and 
the  Bishops  of  Cologne,  deeming  it  essential  to  dress  their 
city-house  in  new  raiments,  engaged  an  Italian  architect, 
a  pupil  probably  of  old  Michael  Angelo,  and  a  French 
sculptor,  who  adjusted  on  the  blackened  faqade  of  the 
thirteenth  century  a  triumphant  and  magnificent  porch. 
A  few  years  expired,  and  they  stood  sadly  in  want  of  a 
promenoir  by  the  side  of  the  Kegistry.  A  back  court  was 
built,  and  galleries  erected,  which  were  sumptuously 
enlivened  by  heraldry  and  bas-reliefs.  These  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing ;  but  in  a  few  years  no  person  will 
have  the  same  gratification,  for  without  anything  being 
done  to  prevent  it,  they  are  fast  falling  into  ruins.  At 
last,  under  Charles  V.,  a  large  room  for  sales  and  for  the 
assemblies  of  the  citizens  was  required,  and  a  tasteful 
building  of  stone  and  brick  was  added.  Thus  a  corps  of 
the  thirteenth  century,  a  belfry  of  the  fourteenth,  a  porch 
and  back  court  of  the  time  of  Maximilian,  and  a  hall  of 
that  of  Charles  V.,  linked  together  in  an  original  and 
pleasing  manner,  form   the  H6tel-de-Yille  of  Cologne, 

I   went  up   to  the  belfry ;  and  under  a  gloomy  sky. 


104  THE   RHINE. 

which  harmonized  with  the  edifice  and  with  my  thoughts, 
I  saw  at  my  feet  the  whole  of  this  admirable  town. 

Cologne  on  the  Ehine,  like  Kouen  on  the  Seine,  like 
Antwerp  on  the  Scheld,  and  like  all  cities  situated  on 
waterways  too  broad  to  be  easily  crossed,  has  the  figure 
of  a  bent  bow,  of  which  the  river  forms  the  chord. 

The  roofs  are  slated  and  crowded  together,  and  pointed 
like  cards  folded  in  two ;  the  streets  are  narrow,  the 
gables  carved.  A  reddish  boundary  of  walls,  rising  on 
all  sides  above  the  roofs,  hems  in  the  city,  like  a  girdle 
buckled  to  the  river,  from  the  turret  of  Thurmchen  to 
that  glorious  tower  of  Bayenthurm,  from  whose  battle- 
ments rises  a  marble  bishop  in  the  act  of  blessing  the 
Ehine.  Between  these  two  points  the  town  exhibits,  along 
the  bank  of  the  stream,  a  full  league  of  windows  and 
fa(^ades.  At  the  middle  point  of  this  long  league  there  is 
a  bridge  of  boats,  which  curves  gracefully  to  meet  the 
current,  crosses  the  river  —  here  at  its  widest  —  and  goes 
to  connect  the  vast  pile  of  buildings  that  make  up 
Cologne  with  the  small  cluster  of  white  houses  that 
constitute  Deuz. 

In  the  very  centre  of  Cologne,  amid  roofs  and  turrets 
and  attics  full  of  flowers,  rise  the  varied  pinnacles  of 
twenty-seven  churches,  among  which  are  four  majestic 
Eoman  churches  (not  reckoning  the  cathedral),  all  of  a 
different  design,  worthy  by  their  size  and  beauty  to  be 
cathedrals  themselves,  —  Saint  Martin  on  the  north.  Saint 
Gereon  on  the  west,  the  Holy  Apostles  on  the  south. 
Saint  Mary  of  the  Capitol  on  the  east.  They  form  a 
forest  of  domes,  towers,  and  steeples. 


THE  h6tel-de-ville.  105 

If  we  examine  the  town  en  detail,  all  is  stir,  all  is  life. 
The  bridge  is  crowded  with  passengers  and  carriages  ; 
the  river  is  covered  with  sails.  Here  and  there  clumps 
of  trees  caress,  as  it  were,  the  houses  blackened  by  time  ; 
and  the  old  stone  hotels  of  the  fifteenth  century,  with 
their  long  frieze  of  sculptured  flowers,  fruit,  and  leaves, 
upon  which  the  dove,  when  tired,  rests  itself,  relieve 
the  monotony  of  the  slate  roofs  and  brick  fronts  which 
surround  them. 

Eound  this  great  town  —  mercantile  from  its  industry, 
military  from  its  position,  marine  from  its  river  —  is  a 
vast  plain  that  borders  Germany,  which  the  Ehine  crosses 
at  different  places,  and  is  crowned  on  the  northeast  by 
historic  croupes,  that  wonderful  nest  of  legends  and 
traditions  called  the  "  Seven  Mountains."  Thus  Holland 
and  its  commerce,  Germany  and  its  poetry,  —  like  the 
two  great  aspects  of  the  human  mind,  the  positive  and 
the  ideal,  —  shed  their  light  upon  the  horizon  of  Cologne  ; 
a  city  of  business  and  of  meditation. 

After  descending  from  the  belfry,  I  stopped  in  the 
yard  before  a  handsome  porch  of  the  Eenaissance,  the 
second  story  of  which  is  formed  of  a  series  of  small  tri- 
umphal arches,  with  inscriptions.  The  first  is  dedicated 
to  Csesar ;  the  second  to  Augustus ;  the  third  to  Agrippa, 
the  founder  of  Cologne  ;  the  fourth  to  Constantine,  the 
Christian  emperor ;  the  fifth  to  Justine,  the  great  legis- 
lator ;  and  the  sixth  to  Maximilian.  Upon  the  facade 
the  poetic  sculptor  has  chased  three  bas-reliefs,  represent- 
ing the  three  lion  combatants,  —  Milo  of  Crotona,  Pepin- 
le-Bref,  and  Daniel.    At  the  two  extremities  he  has  placed 


106  THE   RHINE. 

Milo  of  Crotona  attacking  the  lions  by  strength  of 
body,  and  Daniel  subduing  the  lions  by  the  power  of 
mind.  Between  these  is  Pepin-le-Bref,  conquering  his 
ferocious  antagonist  with  that  mixture  of  moral  and 
physical  strength  which  distinguishes  the  soldier.  Be- 
tween pure  strength  and  pure  thought  is  courage ; 
between   the  athlete  and   the  prophet,  the  hero. 

Pepin,  sword  in  hand,  has  plunged  his  left  arm,  which 
is  enveloped  in  his  mantle,  into  the  mouth  of  the  lion ; 
the  animal  stands,  with  extended  claws,  in  that  attitude 
which  in  heraldry  represents  the  lion  rampant.  Pepin 
attacks  it  bravely  and  vanquishes.  Daniel  is  standing 
motionless,  his  arms  by  his  side,  and  his  eyes  lifted  up 
to  heaven,  the  lions  lovingly  rolling  at  his  feet.  As  for 
Milo  of  Crotona,  he  defends  himself  against  the  lion, 
which  is  in  the  act  of  devouring  him.  His  blind  pre- 
sumption has  put  too  much  faith  in  muscle,  in  corporeal 
strength.  These  three  bas-reliefs  contain  a  world  of 
meaning ;  the  last  produces  a  powerful  effect.  It  is 
Nature  avenging  herself  on  the  man  whose  only  faith 
is   in  brute  force. 

As  I  was  about  to  leave  the  town-house,  —  this  spacious 
building,  this  dwelling,  rich  in  legendary  lore  as  well  as 
in  historical  facts,  —  a  man,  in  appearance  older  than  he 
actually  was,  crooked  from  disposition  more  than  from 
the  influence  of  age,  crossed  the  yard.  The  person  who 
conducted  me  to  the  belfry,  in  pointing  him  out,  said : 

"  That  man  is  a  poet ;  he  has  composed  several  epics 
against  Napoleon,  against  the  revolution  of  1830,  and 
against  the  French.     The  last,  his  chef-d'(Buvre,  beseeches 


THE  POET  OF  COLOGNE.  107 

an  architect  to  finisli  the  church  of  Cologne  in  the  same 
style  as  the  Pantheon  in  Paris." 

Epics !  granted !  Nevertheless,  this  man,  or  poet,  is 
the  most  unwashed-looking  animal  that  ever  I  put  eyes 
upon,  I  do  not  think  we  have  anything  in  France  that 
will  bear  a  comparison  with  the  epic  poet  of  Cologne. 

To  make  up  for  the  opinion  which  this  strange-looking 
animal  had  formed  of  Frenchmen,  a  little  old  man,  with  a 
quick  eye,  came  out  of  a  barber's  shop,  in  one  —  I  do  not 
know  which — of  the  dark  and  obscure  streets,  and  guessing 
my  country,  from  my  appearance,  came  to  me,  shouting 
out,  — 

"  Monsieur,  monsieur,  fous,  Frangais  !  oh,  les  Franqais ! 
ran  !  plan  !  plan  1  plan  !  ran,  tan,  plan  !  la  querre  a  toute 
le  monde !  Prafes  1  Prafes  !  Napoleon,  n'est-ce  pas  ?  La 
querre  a  toute  I'Europe  !  Oh,  les  Franqais,  pien  Prafes, 
monsieur.  La  paionette  au  qui  k  tons  ces  Priciens,  eine 
ponnea  quilpite  gomme  k  I^na.  Prafo  les  Francais  !  ran  ! 
plan  !  plan  !  " 

I  must  admit  that  this  harangue  pleased  me.  France 
is  great  in  the  recollection  and  in  the  hopes  of  these 
people.  All  on  the  banks  of  the  Khine  love  us,  —  I  had 
almost  said,  wait  for  us. 

In  the  evening,  as  the  stars  were  shining,  I  took  a  walk 
upon  the  side  of  the  river  opposite  to  Cologne.  Before 
me  was  the  whole  town,  with  its  innumerable  steeples 
figuring  in  detail  upon  the  pale  western  sky.  To  my 
left  rose,  like  the  giant  of  Cologne,  the  high  spire  of 
Saint  Martin's,  with  its  two  towers  ;  and,  almost  in  front, 
the  sombre  apsis  cathedral,  with  its  many  sharp-pointed 


108  THE   RHINE. 

spires,  resembling  a  monstrous  hedgehog,  the  crane  form- 
ing the  tail,  and  near  the  base  two  lights,  which  appeared 
like  two  eyes  sparkling  with  fire.  Nothing  disturbed  the 
stillness  of  the  night  but  the  rustling  of  the  waters  at  my 
feet,  the  heavy  tramp  of  a  horse's  hoofs  upon  the  bridge, 
and  the  sound  of  a  blacksmith's  hammer.  A  long  stream 
of  fire  that  issued  from  the  forge  caused  the  adjoining 
windows  to  sparkle  ;  then,  as  if  hastening  to  its  opposite 
element,  disappeared  in  the  water. 

From  this  grand  and  sombre  ensemUe  my  thoughts 
took  a  melancholy  turn,  and  in  a  kind  of  reverie  I  said 
to  myself,  "  The  germaine  city  has  disappeared ;  the  city 
of  Agrippa  is  no  longer,  but  the  town  of  Saint  Engelbert 
still  stands."  How  long  will  it  be  so  ?  Decay,  more 
than  a  thousand  years  since,  seized  upon  the  temple 
built  by  Saint  Helena;  the  church  constructed  by  the 
Archbishop  Anno  is  fast  decaying.  Cologne  is  demol- 
ished by  its  river.  Scarcely  a  day  passes  but  some  old 
stone,  some  ancient  relic,  is  detached  by  the  commotion 
of  the  steamboats.  A  town  is  not  situated  with  impu- 
nity upon  the  great  artery  of  Europe.  Cologne,  though 
not  so  old  as  Treves  or  Soleure,  has  already  been  thrice 
deformed  and  transformed  by  the  rapid  and  violent 
change  of  ideas  to  which  it  has  been  subjected.  All  is 
changing.  The  spirit  of  positivism  and  ultilitarianism  — 
for  which  the  grovellers  of  the  present  day  are  such 
strong  advocates  —  penetrates  and  destroys.  Architec- 
ture, old  and  reverential,  gives  way  to  modern  good 
taste.     Alas  !  old  cities  are  fast  disappearing. 


CHAPTER   XL 

APROPOS   OF   THE    HOUSE    IBAGH. 

Man's  Insignificancy.  —  The  House  Ibach.  —  Marie  de  Medicis, 
Richelieu,  and  Louis  XIII. 

"\T7HAT  Nature  does,  perhaps  Nature  knows;  but 
^  »  one  thing  is  certain,  —  and  I  am  not  the  only- 
one  who  says  so,  —  that  men  know  not  what  they  do. 
Often,  in  confronting  history  with  the  material  world,  in 
the  midst  of  those  comparisons  which  my  mind  draws 
between  the  events  hidden  by  God  and  which  time  and 
creation  partly  disclose,  I  have  secretly  shuddered  when 
thinking  that  the  forests,  the  lakes,  the  mountains,  the 
sky,  the  stars,  and  the  ocean,  are  things  clear  and  terri- 
ble, abounding  in  light  and  full  of  science,  and  look,  as  it 
were,  in  disdain  upon  man,  —  that  haughty,  presumptu- 
ous thing,  whose  arm  is  linked  to  impotence ;  that  piece 
of  vanity,  blind  in  its  own  ignorance.  The  tree  may  be 
conscious  of  its  fruit ;  but,  to  me,  man  knows  nothing  of 
his  destiny. 

The  life  of  man  and  his  understanding  are  at  the 
mercy  of  a  divine  power,  —  called  by  some,  Providence, 
by  others.  Chance,  —  which  blends,  combines,  and  decom- 
poses all;  which  conceals  its  workings  in  the  clouds, 
and  discloses  the  results  in  open  day.  We  think  we  do 
one  thing  whilst  we  do  another,  —  urceus  exit.  History 
affords  copious  proofs  of  this.     When  the  husband  of 


110  THE   RHINE. 

Catherine  de  Medicis  and  the  lover  of  Diane  de  Poitiers 
allowed  himself  to  be  allured  by  Philippe  Due,  the  hand- 
some Fiemontaise,  it  was  not  only  Diane  d'Angouleme 
that  he  engendered,  but  he  brought  about  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  his  son  Henry  III.  with  his  cousin  Henry  IV. 
When  Charles  II.  of  England  hid  himself,  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Worcester,  in  the  trunk  of  an  oak,  he  only  thought 
of  concealment,  —  something  more  was  the  result ;  he 
named  a  constellation  "  The  Ptoyal  Oak,"  and  gave  Halley 
the  opportunity  of  detracting  from  the  fame  of  Tycho. 
Strange,  that  the  second  husband  of  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non,  in  revoking  the  Edict  of  Nantes,  and  the  Parliament 
of  1688,  in  expelling  James  II.,  should  bring  about  the 
singular  battle  of  Almanza,  where  face  to  face  were  the 
French  army,  commanded  by  an  Englishman,  Marshal 
Berwick,  and  the  English  army,  commanded  by  a  French- 
man, Euvigny  (Lord  Galloway).  If  Louis  XIII.  had  not 
died  on  the  14th  of  May,  1643,  it  would  never  have 
struck  the  old  Count  de  Fontana  to  attack  Eocroy,  which 
gave  a  heroic  prince  of  twenty-two  the  glorious  oppor- 
tunity of  making  the  Duke  d'Enghien  the  great  Condd. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  strange  and  striking  facts 
which  load  our  chronologies,  what  singular  and  unfore- 
seen occurrences  !  what  formidable  counter-blows  !  In 
1664,  Louis  XIV.,  after  the  offence  done  to  his  ambassa- 
dor, Cr^qui,  caused  the  Corsicans  to  be  banished  from 
Eome ;  a  hundred  and  forty  years  afterwards  Bonaparte 
exiled  the  Bourbons  from  France  ! 

What  shadows !  but  still,  what  light  appears  in  the 
midst    of    the  darkness!    About  1612,  when    Henri  de 


LAUBESPINE  DE  CHATEAUNEUF.  Ill 

Montmorency,  then  about  seventeen  years  of  age,  saw 
among  the  servants  of  his  father  a  pale  and  mean-looking 
menial,  Laubespine  de  Chateauneuf,  bowing  and  scrap- 
ing before  him,  who  could  have  whispered  in  his  ear 
that  this  page  would  become  under-deacon ;  that  this 
under-deacon  would  become  the  lord-keeper  of  the  great 
seal ;  that  this  keeper  of  the  great  seal  would  preside  at 
the  parliament  of  Toulouse ;  and  that,  at  the  expiration 
of  twenty  years,  this  "deacon-president"  would  surlily 
demand  from  the  Pope  permission  to  have  his  master, 
Henry  II.,  Duke  of  Montmorency,  Marshal  of  France, 
and  peer  of  the  kingdom,  decapitated  ?  When  the  presi- 
dent of  Thou  so  carefully  added  his  clauses  to  the  ninth 
edict  of  Louis  XI.,  who  could  have  told  the  monarch 
that  this  very  edict,  with  Laubardemont  for  a  handle, 
would  be  the  hatchet  with  which  Kichelieu  would  strike 
off  the  head  of  his  son? 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  chaos  there  are  laws ;  confusion 
is  only  on  the  surface,  order  is  at  the  bottom.  After 
long  intervals,  frightful  facts  similar  to  those  which 
astounded  our  fathers,  come  like  comets,  in  all  their 
terror,  upon  ourselves;  always  the  same  ambushes, 
the  same  misfortunes ;  always  foundering  upon  the  same 
coasts.  The  name  alone  changes ;  the  acts  are  still 
committed.  A  few  days  before  the  fatal  treaty  of  1814, 
the  emperor  might  have  said  to  his  thirteen  marshals : 

Amen  dico  vobis  quia  unus  vestrum  me  traditurus  est. 

A  Csesar  cherishes  a  Brutus ;  a  Charles  I.  prevents  a 
Cromwell  from  going  to  Jamaica ;  a  Louis  XVI.  throws 


112  THE  KHINE. 

obstacles  in  the  way  of  a  Mirabeau,  who  is  desirous  of 
setting  out  for  the  Indies ;  queens  whose  deeds  are 
characterized  by  cruelty  are  punished  by  ungrateful 
sons ;  Agrippas  beget  Neros,  who  destroy  those  who 
gave  them  birth ;  a  Marie  de  Medicis  engenders  a  Louis 
XIIL,  who  banishes  her. 

You,  without  doubt,  remark  the  strange  turn  my 
thoughts  have  taken  from  one  idea  to  another,  —  to 
these  two  Italians ;  to  these  two  women,  Agrippina 
and  Marie  de  Medicis,  the  spectres  of  Cologne.  About 
sixteen  hundred  years  ago,  the  daughter  of  Germanicus, 
mother  of  Nero,  connected  her  name  and  memory  with 
Cologne,  as  did,  at  a  later  date,  the  wife  of  Henry  IV. 
and  mother  of  Louis  XIIL  The  first,  who  was  born 
there,  died  by  the  poniard ;  the  second  expired  at  Cologne 
from  the  effects  of  poison. 

I  visited,  at  Cologne,  the  house  in  which  Mary  of 
France  breathed  her  last,  —  the  house  Ibach  according  to 
some,  and  Jabach  according  to  others ;  but,  instead  of 
relating  what  I  saw,  I  will  tell  the  thoughts  that  flashed 
across  my  mind  when  there.  Excuse  me  for  not  giving 
all  the  local  details,  of  which  I  am  so  fond ;  in  fact,  I 
am  afraid  that  I  have,  ere  this,  fatigued  my  reader  with 
my  festons  and  my  astragales.  The  unhappy  queen  died 
here,  at  the  age  of  sixty-eight,  on  the  3d  of  July,  1642. 
She  was  exiled  for  eight  years  from  France,  had  wandered 
everywhere,  and  was  very  expensive  to  the  countries  in 
which  she  stopped.  When  at  London,  Charles  I.  treated 
her  with  munificence,  allowing  her,  the  three  years  she 
resided  there,  a  hundred  pounds  sterling  per  day.     After- 


THE  HOUSE  IBACH.  113 

wards  —  T  must  say  it  with  regret  —  Paris  returned 
that  hospitality  to  Henrietta,  daughter  of  Henry  IV.  and 
widow  of  Charles  I.,  by  giving  her  a  garret  in  the  Louvre, 
where  she  often  remained  in  bed  for  want  of  the  comforts 
of  a  fire,  anxiously  expecting  a  few  louis  that  the  coadju- 
teur  had  promised  to  lend  her.  Her  mother,  the  widow 
of  Henry  IV.,  experienced  the  same  misery  at  Cologne. 

How  strange  and  striking  are  these  details !  Marie  de 
Medicis  was  not  long  dead  when  Eichelieu  ceased  to  live, 
and  Louis  XIII.  expired  the  following  year.  For  what 
good  was  the  inveterate  hatred  that  existed  between  these 
three  mortal  beings?  For  what  end  so  much  intrigue, 
quarrelling,  and  persecution?  —  God  alone  knows.  All 
three  died  almost  at  the  same  hour. 

There  is  something  remaining  of  a  mysterious  nature 
about  Marie  de  Medicis.  I  have  always  been  horrified  at 
the  terrible  sentence  that  the  President  Henault,  probably 
without  intention,  wrote  upon  this  queen,  "  Elle  ne  fut 
pas  assez  surprise  de  la  morte  de  Henri  IV." 

I  must  admit  that  all  this  tends  to  shed  a  lustre  upon 
that  admirable  epoch,  the  glorious  reign  of  Louis  XIV. 
The  darkness  that  obscured  the  beginning  of  that  century 
contrasted  admirably  with  the  brilliancy  of  its  close. 
Louis  XIV.  was  not  only,  as  Eichelieu,  powerful,  but  he 
was  majestic ;  not  only,  as  Cromwell,  great,  but  in  him 
was  serenity.  Louis  XIV.  was  not,  perhaps,  the  genius 
in  the  master,  but  genius  surrounded  him.  This  may 
lessen  a  king  in  the  eyes  of  some,  but  it  adds  to  the  glory 
of  his  reign.  As  for  me,  as  you  already  know,  I  love 
that  which  is  absolute,  which  is  perfect ;  and  therefore 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  8 


114  THE  EHLNE. 

have  always  had  a  profound  respect  for  this  grave  and 
worthy  prince,  so  well  born,  so  much  loved,  and  so  well 
surrounded ;  a  king  in  his  cradle,  a  king  in  the  tomb ; 
true  sovereign  in  every  acceptation  of  the  word ;  central 
monarch  of  civilization ;  pivot  of  Europe ;  seeing,  so  to 
speak,  from  tour  to  tour,  eight  popes,  five  sultans,  three 
emperors,  two  kings  of  Spain,  three  kings  of  Portugal, 
four  kings  and  one  queen  of  England,  three  kings  of 
Denmark,  one  queen  and  two  kings  of  Sweden,  four  kings 
of  Poland,  and  four  czars  of  Muscovy,  appear,  shine  forth, 
and  disappear  around  his  throne  ;  polar  star  of  an  entire 
age,  who,  during  seventy-two  years,  saw  all  the  con- 
stellations majestically  perform  their  evolutions  round 
him. 


CHAPTER  XIL 

A   FEW   WORDS   RESPECTING   THE   WALDRAF   MUSEUM. 

Schleis   Kotten.  —  "  Stretching-out-of-the-hand   System,"   or,   Travelling 
Coiitiugencies.  —  Recapitulation. 

T3ESIDES  the  cathedral,  the  H6tel-de-Ville,  and  the 
-L'  Ibach  House,  I  visited  Schleis  Kotten,  the  vestiges 
of  the  subterranean  aqueduct  which,  at  the  time  of  the 
Eomans,  led  from  Cologne  to  Travers.  Traces  of  it  are  at 
the  present  day  to  be  seen  in  thirty-two  villages.  In 
Cologne  I  inspected  the  Waldraf  Museum,  and  am  almost 
tempted  to  give  you  an  inventory  of  all  I  saw ;  but  I 
will  spare  you.  Suffice  it  to  know,  that  if  I  did  not  find 
the  war-chariot  of  the  ancient  Germans,  the  famed 
Egyptian  mummy,  or  the  grand  culverin  founded  at 
Cologne  in  1400,  I  saw  a  very  fine  sarcophagus,  and  the 
armory  of  Bernard,  Bishop  of  Galen.  I  was  also  shown 
an  enormous  cuirass,  which  was  said  to  have  been  the 
property  of  Jean  de  Wert,  a  general  of  the  empire;  but  I 
sought  in  vain  for  his  sword,  which  measured  eight  feet 
and  a  half  in  length  ;  his  immense  pike,  likened  to  the 
pine  of  Polyphemus  ;  and  his  large  helmet,  that,  as  it  is 
said,  took  two  men  to  raise  it. 

The  pleasure  of  seeing  all  these  curiosities  —  museums, 
churches,  town-houses,  etc. —  is  alloyed  by  the  everlasting 
extended  hand ;   Pay,  pay !     Upon    the   borders   of   the 


116  THE  RHINE. 

Ehine,  as  at  other  places  much  frequented,  the  stranger 
is  obliged  to  have  his  hand  in  constant  communion  with 
his  pocket.  The  purse  of  the  traveller  —  that  precious 
article  —  is  to  him  everything,  since  hospitality  is  no 
longer  seen  receiving  the  weary  traveller  with  soft  words 
and  cordial  looks.  I  will  give  you  an  idea  of  the  extent 
to  which  the  stretching-out-of-the-hand  is  carried  on 
among  the  iiitelligents  naturels  of  this  country.  Kemem- 
ber,  there  is  no  exaggeration, —  only  the  truth. 

On  entering  a  town,  an  understrapper  ascertains  the 
hotel  that  you  intend  putting  up  at,  asks  for  your  pass- 
port, takes  it,  and  puts  it  into  his  pocket.  The  horses 
stop  ;  you  look  round,  and  find  that  you  are  in  a  court- 
yard,—  that  your  present  journey  is  terminated.  The 
driver,  who  has  not  exchanged  a  word  with  any  one  dur- 
ing the  journey,  alights,  opens  the  door,  and  extends  his 
hand  with  an  air  of  modesty, — "  Eemember  the  driver." 
A  minute  elapses ;  the  postilion  presents  himself,  and 
makes  an  harangue  which  signifies,  "  Don't  forget  me." 
The  luggage  is  uncorded ;  a  tall,  fleshless  animal  sets 
your  portmanteau  gently  on  the  ground,  with  your 
nightcap  on  the  top  of  it, —  so  much  trouble  "  must  be 
rewarded."  Another  creature,  more  curious  perhaps  than 
the  latter,  puts  your  chattels  upon  a  wheelbarrow,  asks 
the  name  of  the  hotel  you  have  fixed  upon,  then  runs 
before  you,  pushing  his  shapeless  machine.  No  sooner 
arrived  at  the  hotel  than  the  host  approaches,  and  begins 
a  dialogue  which  ought  to  be  written  in  all  languages 
upon  the  doors  of  the  respective  auberges. 

"  Good-day,  sir." 


THE  TRAVELLER'S  PURSE.  117 

"  If  you  have  a  spare  room,  I  should  like  to  engage  it." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Thomas,  conduct  the  gentleman  to 
No.  4." 

"  I  should  like  something  to  eat." 

"  Immediately,  sir,  immediately." 

You  go  to  No.  4,  where  you  find  your  luggage  has 
arrived.  A  man  appears  ;  it  is  the  person  who  conveyed 
the  luggage  to  the  hotel.  "  The  porter,  sir."  A  second 
makes  his  appearance ;  what  the  devil  does  he  want  ? 
It  is  the  person  who  carried  your  luggage  into  the  room. 
You  say  to  him, — 

"Very  well;  I  shall  pay  you,  on  leaving,  with  the 
other  servants." 

"  Monsieur,"  the  man  replies,  with  a  supplicating  air, 
"  I  don't  belong  to  the  hotel." 

There  is  no  alternative, — "  disburse."  You  take  a 
walk ;  a  handsome  church  presents  itself.  You  cannot 
think  of  passing  it ;  no,  no,  you  must  go  in,  for  it  is  not 
every  day  you  meet  such  a  structure.  You  walk  round, 
gazing  at  everything ;  at  last  a  door  meets  your  view. 
Jesus  says,  "  Compelle  intrare  ; "  the  priests  ought  to  keep 
the  doors  open,  but  the  beadles  shut  them,  in  order  to 
gain  a  few  sous.  An  old  woman,  who  has  perceived 
your  embarrassment,  comes  and  shows  you  a  bell  by  the 
side  of  a  small  wicket ;  you  ring,  the  wicket  is  opened, 
and  the  beadle  stands  before  you. 

"  May  I  see  the  interior  of  the  church  ?  " 
"  Certainly,"  the  old  man  replies,  a  sort  of  grim  smile 
lighting  up  his  grave  countenance. 

He  draws  out  a  bunch  of  keys,  and  directs  his  steps 


118  THE   RHINE. 

towards  the  principal  entrance.  Just  as  you  are  about 
to  go  in,  something  seizes  you  by  the  skirts  of  your  coat. 
You  turn  round;  it  is  the  obliging  old  woman,  whom 
you  have  forgotten  —  ungrateful  wretch  !  —  to  reward : 
"  Pay  !  "  You  at  last  find  yourself  in  the  interior  of  the 
church ;  you  contemplate,  admire,  and  are  struck  with 
wonder. 

"  Why  is  that  picture  covered  with  a  green  cloth  ? " 

"  Because,"  the  beadle  replies,  "  it  is  the  most  beautiful 
picture  in  the  church." 

"  What ! "  you  say,  in  astonishment,  "  the  best  picture 
hidden  ?  Elsewhere  it  is  exposed  to  view.  Who  is 
it  by  ? " 

"  Eubens." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  it." 

The  beadle  leaves  you,  and  in  a  few  minutes  returns 
with  an  old,  pensive-looking  individual  by  his  side ;  it  is 
the  churchwarden.  This  worthy  personage  presses  a 
spring,  the  curtain  draws,  and  you  behold  the  picture. 
The  painting  seen,  the  curtain  closes,  and  the  church- 
warden bows  significantly,  —  "  Pay,  pay  ! "  On  continuing 
your  walk  in  the  church,  preceded  by  the  beadle,  you 
arrive  at  the  door  of  the  choir,  before  which  a  man  has 
taken  up  his  stand  in  "  patient  expectation."  It  is  a  Swiss 
who  has  the  charge  of  the  choir.  You  walk  round  it; 
and  on  leaving,  your  attentive  cicerone  graciously  salutes 
you,  —  "  Only  a  trifle."  You  find  yourself  again  with  the 
beadle,  and  soon  after  pass  before  the  sacristy.  Oh,  won- 
der of  wonders !  the  door  is  open.  You  enter,  and  find 
a  sexton.     The  beadle  retires,  for  the  other  must  be  left 


THE  TRAVELLER'S  PURSE.  119 

alone  with  his  prey.  The  sexton  smiles,  shows  you  the 
urns,  the  ecclesiastical  ornaments  and  decorated  windows, 
bishops'  mitres,  and  in  a  box  a  skeleton  of  some  saint 
dressed  as  a  troubadour.  You  have  seen  the  sacristy, 
therefore  "  must  pay."  The  beadle  again  appears,  and 
leads  you  to  the  ladder  that  conducts  to  the  tower.  A 
view  from  the  steeple  must  be  truly  delightful.  You 
decide  on  going  up.  The  beadle  pushes  a  door  open ; 
you  climb  up  about  thirty  steps,  then  you  find  that  a 
door  which  is  locked  prevents  you  proceeding  farther. 
You  look  back,  and  are  surprised  that  the  beadle  is  no 
longer  with  you,  —  that  you  are  alone.  What's  to  be 
done  ?  You  knock ;  a  face  appears,  —  it  is  that  of  the 
bellman.  He  opens  the  door,  —  for  which  kind  action, 
"  Pay ! "  You  proceed  on  your  way ;  are  delighted  to  find 
yourself  alone,  —  that  the  bellman  has  not  followed. 
You  then  begin  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  solitude,  and 
arrive  with  a  light  heart  at  the  high  platform  of  the 
tower. 

You  look  about,  come  and  go,  admire  the  blue  sky,  the 
smiling  country,  and  the  immense  horizon.  Suddenly 
you  perceive  an  unknown  animal  walking  by  your  side ; 
then  your  ears  are  dinned  with  things  you  know,  and 
perhaps  care  little  about.  It  turns  out  to  be  the  expli- 
cateur,  who  fills  the  high  office  of  explaining  to  the 
stranger  the  magnificence  of  the  steeple,  the  church,  and 
the  surrounding  country.  This  man  is  ordinarily  a  stut- 
terer, —  sometimes  deaf.  You  do  not  listen  to  him ;  you 
forget  him  in  contemplating  the  churches,  the  streets,  the 
trees,  the  rivers,  and  the  hills.     When  you  have  seen  all, 


120  THE  RHINE. 

you  think  of  descending,  and  direct  your  steps  to  the  top 
of  the  ladder.    The  bellman  is  there  before  you,  —  "  Pay  ! " 

"  Very  well,"  you  say,  fingering  your  purse,  which  is 
momentarily  dissolving,  "  how  much  must  I  give  you  ? " 

"  I  am  charged  two  francs  for  each  person,  which  sum 
goes  to  the  church  revenue ;  but,  sir,  you  must  give  me 
something  for  my  trouble." 

You  descend;  the  beadle  makes  his  appearance,  and 
conducts  you  with  respect  to  the  door  of  the  church.  So 
much  trouble  cannot  fail  to  be  well  rewarded. 

You  return  to  your  hotel,  and  have  scarcely  entered, 
when  you  see  a  person  approaching  you  with  a  familiar 
air,  and  who  is  totally  a  stranger  to  you.  It  is  the  un- 
derstrapper who  took  your  passport,  and  who  now  returns 
with  it  —  to  be  paid.  You  dine ;  the  hour  of  your  de- 
partures comes,  and  a  servant  brings  you  in  the  bill,  — 
"  Pay  ! "  also  a  consideration  for  the  trouble  of  taking  the 
money.  An  ostler  carries  your  portmanteau  to  the  dili- 
gence ;  you  must  remember  him.  You  get  into  the  vehi- 
cle ;  you  set  off.  Night  falls  ;  you  begin  the  same  course 
to-morrow. 

Let  us  recapitulate.  Something  to  the  driver,  a  trifle  to 
the  postilion,  the  porter,  the  man  who  does  not  belong 
to  the  hotel,  to  the  old  woman,  to  Kubens,  to  the  Swiss, 
to  the  sexton,  to  the  bellman,  to  the  church  revenue,  to 
the  beadle,  to  the  passport-keeper,  to  the  servants,  and  to 
the  ostler.  How  many  pays  do  you  call  that  in  a  day  ? 
Remember,  every  one  must  be  silver;  copper  is  looked 
upon  here  with  the  greatest  contempt,  even  by  a  brick- 
layer's labourer. 


THE   TRAVELLER'S  PURSE.  121 

To  this  ingenious  people  the  traveller  is  a  sack  of 
crowns,  which  the  good  inhabitants,  in  order  to  reduce 
the  bulk  as  soon  as  possible,  are  ever  sweating.  The 
government  itself  occasionally  claims  a  share  of  the 
spoil ;  it  takes  your  trunk  and  portmanteau,  places  them 
upon  its  shoulders,  and  offers  you  its  hand.  In  large 
towns  the  porters  pay  to  the  royal  treasury  twelve  sous 
two  liards  for  each  traveller.  I  was  not  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  at  Aix-la-Chapelle  before  I  had  given  my  mite  to 
the  King  of  Prussia. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


ANDERNACH. 


A  View  from  Andernach.  —  Village  of  Leutersdorf .  —  Cathedral.  —  Its 
Kelics.  —  Andernach  Castle.  —  Inscription.  —  The  Tomb  of  Hoche.  — 
Gothic  Church  and  Inscription. 

ANDERNACH,  where  I  have  been  stopping  for  the 
last  three  days,  is  an  ancient  municipal  town, 
situated  upon  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  The  coup  d'ceil 
from  my  window  is  truly  charming.  Before  me,  at  the 
foot  of  a  high  hill,  which  obscures  from  my  view  part  of 
the  blue  sky,  is  a  handsome  tower  of  the  thirteenth 
century ;  to  my  right  the  Rhine,  and  the  charming  little 
white  village  of  Leutersdorf,  half  hidden  among  the 
trees ;  and  to  my  left  the  four  steeples  of  a  magnificent 
church  of  the  eleventh  century,  two  at  the  portal  and 
two  at  the  apsis. 

The  two  big  towers  of  the  portal  have  a  singular  and 
irregular  but  grand  outline.  They  are  square,  surmounted 
by  four  pointed  triangular  gables,  bearing  in  their  in- 
terstices four  slated  lozenges,  connected  at  their  sum- 
mits and  forming  the  point  of  the  pinnacle.  Under  my 
window  cackle  in  perfect  harmony,  hens,  children,  and 
ducks ;  and  yonder,  at  the  back,  peasants  are  working 
among  the  vines.     However,  it  appears  that  this  picture 


AN  ADVENTURE.  12 


o 


did  not  satisfy  the  man  of  taste  who  decorated  the  room 
in  which  I  live.  Beside  my  window  he  has  nailed 
another,  without  doubt  as  a  pendant;  it  is  a  picture 
representing  two  large  candlesticks  placed  on  the  ground, 
with  this  inscription:  "Vue  de  Paris."  By  dint  of 
cudgelling  my  brains  I  have  managed  to  make  out  that 
this  is  a  representation  of  the  Barrifere  du  Trone.  The 
thing  is  wonderfully  like. 

I  visited  the  church  on  the  day  of  my  arrival,  the 
interior  of  which  is,  notwithstanding  the  hideous  manner 
that  some  one  has  plastered  it,  rather  handsome.  The 
Emperor  Valentinian  and  a  child  of  Frederick  Barbar- 
ossa  were  interred  in  this  church,  but  neither  inscrip- 
tions nor  tombstones  indicated  the  place  where  they 
were  buried.  Our  Saviour  at  the  tomb ;  a  few  statues, 
life  size,  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  a  chevalier  of  the 
sixteenth,  leaning  against  a  wall ;  several  figures  ;  the 
fragments  of  a  mausoleum  of  the  Eenaissance,  were  all 
that  the  smiling  hump-backed  bell-ringer  could  show  me 
for  a  little  piece  of  silvered  copper  which  passes  here  for 
thirty  sous. 

I  must  tell  a  little  adventure  which  I  had,  —  an 
incident  that  has  left  on  my  mind  the  impression  of  a 
sombre  dream. 

On  leaving  the  church  I  walked  round  the  city.  The 
sun  was  setting  behind  the  high  hills  that,  in  seeming 
pride  and  pristine  glory,  look  down  upon  the  Ehine,  on 
the  imperial  tomb  of  Valentinian,  on  the  abbey  of  Saint 
Thomas,  and  on  the  old  walls  of  the  feudal  town  of  the 
electors  of  Treves. 


124  THE   RHINE. 

I  pursued  my  way  by  the  side  of  the  moat  that  skirts 
the  dilapidated  walls,  the  fallen  stones  of  which  serve  as 
seats  and  tables  for  half-naked  urchins  to  play  upon,  and 
in  the  evening  for  young  men  to  tell  their  fair  hergeres 
the  achings  of  their  wounded  hearts.  The  formidable 
castle,  that  was  once  the  defence  of  Andernach,  is  now 
an  immense  ruin  ;  and  the  court,  once  the  seat  of  war,  is 
now  covered  with  grass,  upon  which  women  bleach  in 
summer  the  cloth  that  they  have  woven  in  winter. 

After  leaving  the  outer  gate  of  Andernach,  I  found 
myself  on  the  banks  of  the  Ehine.  The  night  was  calm 
and  serene,  and  Nature-  had  lulled  herself  to  sleep.  Shep- 
herdesses came  to  drink  from  the  clear  stream,  then  in 
mirth  ran  away  to  hide  themselves  among  the  osieries. 
Before  me  a  white  village  was  all  but  lost  in  the 
distance ;  and  towards  the  east,  at  the  extreme  border  of 
the  horizon,  the  full  moon,  red  and  round  like  the  eye  of 
a  Cyclop,  appeared  between  two  clouds. 

How  often  have  I  walked  thus,  unconscious  of  all 
save  the  beauties  which  Nature  presented,  alive  only  to 
that  dame  who  has  so  great  a  sway  over  the  sensitive 
mind !  I  knew  not  where  I  was,  nor  where  I  was  stray- 
ing ;  and  when  I  awoke  from  my  reverie  I  found  myself 
at  the  foot  of  a  rising  ground,  crowned  at  the  summit 
by  some  stonework.  I  approached,  and  was  somewhat 
startled  on  finding  a  tomb.  Whose  was  it  ?  I  walked 
round,  trying  to  discover  the  name  of  the  person  whom 
it  memorialized,  and  at  last  perceived  the  following 
inscription  in  brass  letters  :  — 

L'arm^e  de  Sambre  et  Meuse  h,  son  General  en  Chef. 


TOMB  OF  HOCHE.  125 

Above  these  two  lines  I  saw,  by  the  light  of  the  moon, 
which  was  shining  brightly,  the  name  —  Hoche.  The 
letters  had  been  taken  away,  but  had  left  their  imprint 
on  the  granite. 

That  name,  in  this  place,  at  such  an  hour,  and  seen  by 
such  a  light,  had  a  strange,  an  inexpressible  effect  upon 
me.  Hoche  was  always  a  favourite  of  mine :  he,  like 
Marceau,  was  one  of  those  young  men  who  preluded 
Bonaparte  in  an  attempt  which  was  all  but  successful. 
This,  then,  I  thought,  is  the  resting-place  of  Hoche,  and 
the  well-remembered  date  of  the  18th  of  April,  1797, 
flashed  across  my  memory. 

I  looked  around  me,  endeavouring,  but  in  vain,  to 
identify  the  spot.  To  the  north  was  a  vast  plain  ;  to  the 
south,  about  the  distance  of  a  gunshot,  the  Ehine ;  and 
at  my  feet,  at  the  base  of  this  tomb,  was  a  small  village. 

At  that  moment  a  man  passed  a  few  steps  from  the 
monument.  I  asked  him  the  name  of  the  village,  and  he 
answered,  while  disappearing  behind  a  hedge,  "Weiss 
Thurm." 

These  two  words  signify  White  Tower.  I  then  remem- 
bered Turris  Alba  of  the  Eomans,  and  was  proud  to  find 
that  Hoche  had  died  in  an  illustrious  place.  It  was  here 
that  Csesar,  two  thousand  years  ago,  first  crossed  the 
Ehine. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  this  scaffolding  ?  Are  they 
restoring  or  are  they  degrading  it  ?     I  do  not  know. 

I  scaled  the  surbasement,  and,  clinging  to  the  carpentry 
by  means  of  one  of  the  four  openings  made  in  the  frame- 
work, looked  into  the  tomb.    It  was  a  little  quadrangular 


126  THE  RHINE. 

chamber,  naked,  gloomy,  and  cold.  A  moonbeam,  enter- 
ing by  one  of  the  crevices,  outlined  a  white  form  in  the 
darkness,  upright  and  standing  against  the  wall. 

I  entered  this  chamber  by  a  narrow  aperture,  lowering 
my  head  and  dragging  myself  on  my  knees.  There,  I  saw 
in  the  centre  of  the  floor  a  round  hole,  yawning  and  entirely 
dark.  It  was  through  this  hole  doubtless  that  the  coffin 
had  formerly  been  lowered  into  the  vault  below.  A  rope 
was  hanging  and  was  lost  in  the  obscurity.  I  approached. 
I  ventured  to  look  into  this  hole,  into  the  darkness  of  this 
vault ;  I  was  trying  to  find  the  coffin ;  I  saw  nothing. 

With  some  difficulty  I  was  able  to  distinguish  the  vague 
outline  of  a  kind  of  funereal  recess,  cut  into  the  vault,  and 
dimly  marked  in  the  shadow. 

I  remained  there  a  long  time,  eye  and  mind  vainly 
absorbed  in  this  double  mystery  of  death  and  night.  An 
icy  breath  issued  from  the  hole  as  from  an  open  mouth. 

I  cannot  say  what  was  passing  in  my  mind.  This  tomb 
so  suddenly  encountered,  this  great  name  coming  upon 
me  unawares,  the  lugubrious  chamber,  the  vault  inhabited 
or  untenanted,  the  scaffolding  of  which  I  had  a  glimpse, 
the  solitude  and  the  moon  enveloping  the  sepulchre,  — 
all  came  suddenly  on  my  mind  at  once  and  filled  it  with 
gloomy  thoughts.  A  profound  feeling  of  pity  thrilled  my 
heart.  This  then,  is  what  becomes  of  the  illustrious  dead 
when  exiled  or  forgotten  in  the  land  of  the  stranger  ! 
This  funeral  trophy  raised  by  a  whole  army  is  at  the 
mercy  of  the  passer-by.  The  great  French  general  sleeps 
far  from  his  native  land  in  a  bean-field,  and  Prussian 
masons  do  with  his  tomb  what  seems  good  to  them. 


BAS-RELIEF  AT  ANDERNACH.  127 

I  thought  I  heard  a  voice  issuing  from  that  mass  of 
stones,  and  saying,  "  France  must  recover  the  Khine  ! " 

Half  an  hour  afterwards,  I  was  on  the  road  to  Ander- 
nach,  from  which  I  was  only  distant  a  league  and  a 
quarter. 

Andernach  is  a  lovely  place,  with  which  I  was  truly 
delighted.  From  the  top  of  the  hills  the  eye  embraces  an 
immense  circle,  extending  from  Sibengeburge  to  the  crests 
of  Ehrenbreitstein.  Here  there  is  not  a  stone  of  an  edifice 
that  has  not  its  souvenir,  not  a  single  view  in  the  country 
that  has  not  its  beauties  and  its  graces  ;  and,  what  is  more, 
the  countenances  of  the  inhabitants  have  that  frank  and 
open  expression  which  fails  not  to  create  delight  in  the 
heart  of  the  traveller.  Andernach  is  a  charming  town, 
notwithstanding  Andernach  is  a  deserted  place.  Nobody 
goes  where  History,  Nature,  and  Poetry  abound  ;  Coblentz. 
Baden,  and  Mannheim  are  now  the  exclusive  resort  of 
sophisticated  tourists. 

I  went  a  second  time  to  the  church.  The  Byzantine 
decoration  of  the  steeples  is  rich,  and  of  a  taste  at  once 
rude  and  exquisite.  The  chapitres  of  the  southern  portal 
are  very  curious ;  there  is  a  representation  of  the  cruci- 
fixion still  perfectly  visible  upon  the  pediment  and  on  the 
faqade  a  bas-relief,  representing  Jesus  on  his  knees,  with 
his  arms  widely  extended.  On  all  sides  of  him  lie  scattered 
about,  as  if  in  a  frightful  dream,  the  mantle  of  derison, 
the  sceptre  of  reeds,  the  crown  of  thorns,  the  rod,  the 
pincers,  the  hammer,  the  nails,  the  ladder,  the  spear,  the 
sponge  filled  with  gall,  the  sinister  profile  of  the  hardened 


128  THE  KHINE. 

thief,  the  livid  countenance  of  Judas  ;  and  before  the  eyes 
of  the  Divine  Master  is  the  cross,  and  at  a  little  distance 
the  cock  crowing,  reminding  him  of  the  ingratitude  and 
abandonment  of  his  friend.  This  last  idea  is  sublime ; 
there  is  depicted  that  moral  sufferance  which  is  more  acute 
than  the  physical. 

The  gigantic  shadows  of  the  two  steeples  darken  this 
sad  elegy.  Eound  the  bas-relief  the  sculptor  has  engraved 
the  following  expressive  words  :  — 

"  O  vos  omnesqui  transitis  per  viam,  attendite  et  videte 
si  est  dolor  similis  sicut  dolor  meus.     1538." 

There  is  another  handsome  church  at  Andernach,  of 
Gothic  structure,  which  is  now  transformed  into  an  im- 
mense stable  for  Prussian  cavalry.  By  the  half-open  door 
we  perceive  a  long  row  of  horses,  which  are  lost  in  the 
shadows  of  the  chapel.  Above  the  door  are  the  words, 
"Sancta  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis,"  which  is  not  exactly  an 
apropos  inscription  for  the  abode  of  horses. 

I  should  have  liked  to  ascend  the  curious  tower  I  saw 
from  my  window  ;  it  is,  according  to  all  appearance,  the 
ancient  watch-tower  of  the  town.  But  the  staircase  is 
broken  and  the  roof  is  falling  in.  I  had  to  renounce  the 
idea.  The  ancient  ruin,  however,  has  so  many  flowers, 
—  flowers  so  charming  and  so  admirably  arranged  and 
cultivated  with  such  care  at  all  the  windows,  that  the 
place  looked  as  if  it  was  inhabited.  It  is  in  truth  in- 
habited, —  inhabited  by  the  shyest  and  most  coquettish 
of  tenants  ;  by  that  gentle  and  invisible  fairy  that  has  her 
abode  in  all  ruins,  who  takes  them  for  her  own,  rips  up 


Watch  Tower,  Andernacb. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


RUINED  CHURCH  AT  ANDERNACH.       129 

all  the  stories  and  ceilings  and  staircases,  so  that  the  foot- 
steps of  man  may  not  disturb  the  nests  of  the  birds.  She 
places  at  all  the  windows  and  before  all  the  doors  lovely- 
flowers  in  pots  formed  of  venerable  stone  which  the  rain 
has  hollowed  out  or  time  has  cracked.  She  knows  how  to 
do  this  because  she  is  a  fairy. 

VOL.  XXVII.— ^9 


CHAPTEK    XIV. 

THE    RHINE. 

The  Rhine  at  Evening  —  Contrast  of  the  Rhine  with  other  Rivers.  — 
The  First  People  who  took  Possession  of  the  Banks  of  the  Rhine.  — 
Titus  and  the  Twenty-second  Legion.  —  Mysterious  Populations  of  the 
Rhine.  —  Civilization.  —  Pepiu-le-Bref,  Charlemagne,  and  Napoleon. 

T  LOVE  rivers.  They  do  more  than  bear  merchandise : 
-*•  ideas  float  along  their  surface.  Eivers,  like  clarions, 
sing  to  the  ocean  of  the  beauty  of  the  earth,  the  fertility 
of  plains,  and  the  splendour  of  cities. 

Of  all  rivers,  I  prefer  the  Ehine.  It  is  now  a  year,  when 
passing  the  bridge  of  boats  at  Kehl,  since  I  first  saw  it. 
I  remember  that  I  felt  a  certain  respect,  a  sort  of  adoration, 
for  this  old,  this  classic  stream.  I  never  think  of  rivers  — 
those  great  works  of  Nature,  which  are  also  great  in 
history  —  without  emotion. 

I  remember  the  Ehone  at  Valserine ;  I  saw  it  in  1825, 
in  a  pleasant  excursion  to  Switzerland,  which  is  one  of  the 
sweet,  happy  recollections  of  my  early  life.  I  remember 
with  what  noise,  with  what  ferocious  bellowing,  the  Rhone 
precipitated  itself  into  the  gulf  whilst  the  frail  bridge 
upon  which  I  was  standing  was  shaking  beneath  my  feet. 
Ah,  well !  since  that  time,  the  Ehone  brings  to  my  mind 
the  idea  of  a  tiger ;  the  Ehine,  that  of  a  lion. 


THE   RHINE.  131 

The  evening  on  which  I  saw  the  Rhine  for  the  first 
time  I  was  impressed  with  the  same  idea.  For  several 
minutes  I  stood  contemplating  this  proud  and  noble 
river,  —  violent,  but  not  furious  ;  wild,  but  still  majestic. 
It  was  swollen,  and  was  magnificent  in  appearance,  and 
was  washing  with  its  yellow  mane  —  or,  as  Boileau  says, 
its  "  slimy  beard  "  —  the  bridge  of  boats.  Its  two  banks 
were  lost  in  the  twilight,  and  though  its  roaring  was 
loud,  still  there  was  tranquillity. 

Yes,  the  Ehine  is  a  noble  river,  —  feudal,  republican, 
imperial ;  worthy  at  the  same  time  of  France  and  of 
Germany.  The  whole  history  of  Europe  is  combined 
within  its  two  great  aspects,  —  in  this  flood  of  the  war- 
rior and  of  the  philosopher ;  in  this  proud  stream,  which 
causes  France  to  bound  with  joy,  and  by  whose  profound 
murmurings  Germany  is  bewildered  in  dreams. 

The  Rhine  is  unique ;  it  combines  the  qualities  of 
every  river.  Like  the  Rhone,  it  is  rapid;  broad,  like 
the  Loire ;  encased,  like  the  Meuse ;  serpentine,  like  the 
Seine ;  limpid  and  green,  like  the  Somme  ;  historical,  like 
the  Tiber ;  royal,  like  the  Danube ;  mysterious,  like  the 
Nile ;  spangled  with  gold,  like  an  American  river ;  and 
like  a  river  of  Asia,  abounding  with  phantoms  and 
fables. 

Before  the  commencement  of  history,  perhaps  before 
the  existence  of  man,  where  the  Rhine  now  is  there  was 
a  double  chain  of  volcanoes,  which  on  their  extinction 
left  heaps  of  lava  and  basalt  lying  parallel,  like  two  long 
walls.  At  the  same  epoch  the  gigantic  crystallizations 
formed  the  primitive  mountains ;  the  enormous  alluvions, 


132  THE   RHINE. 

of  which  the  secondary  mountains  consist,  were  dried 
up;  the  frightful  heap,  which  is  now  called  the  Alps, 
grew  gradually  cold,  and  snow  accumulated  on  them, 
from  which  two  great  streams  issued.  The  one  flowing 
towards  the  north,  crossed  the  plains,  encountered  the 
sides  of  the  extinguished  volcanoes,  and  emptied  itself 
into  the  ocean ;  the  other,  taking  its  course  westward, 
fell  from  mountain  to  mountain,  flowed  along  the  side  of 
the  block  of  extinguished  volcanoes,  which  is  now  called 
Ardeche,  and  was  finally  lost  in  the  Mediterranean.  The 
first  of  those  inundations  is  the  Rhine,  and  the  second 
the  Rhone. 

From  historical  records  we  find  that  the  first  people 
who  took  possession  of  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  were  the 
half-savage  Celts,  who  were  afterwards  named  Gauls  by 
the  Romans,  —  "  qui  ipsorum  lingua  Celtae,  nostra  vero 
Galli  vocantur,"  says  Caesar.  The  Rauraci  established 
themselves  near  the  source,  the  Argentoraci  and  the 
Moguntii  nearer  to  the  mouth.  Then,  when  the  hour 
came,  Coesar  appeared ;  Drusus  built  his  fifty  citadels ; 
the  consul  Munatius  Plancus  began  to  build  a  city  at 
the  northern  extremity  of  the  Jura;  Marcus  Vipsanius 
Agrippa  founded  a  fortress  at  the  disemboguing  of  the 
Mein,  and  afterwards  a  colony  opposite  Tuitium  ;  the 
senator  Antonius  founded  under  Vero  a  municipality 
near  the  Batavian  Sea ;  and  all  the  Rhine  was  under  the 
sway  of  Rome.  When  Rome  was  in  its  glory,  Coesar 
crossed  the  Rhine,  and  shortly  afterwards  the  whole  of 
the  river  was  under  the  jurisdiction  of  his  empire.  When 
the  Twenty-second  Legion    returned  from  the  siege  of 


THE   RHINE.  13 


o 


Jerusalem,  Titus  sent  it  to  the  banks  of  the  Ehine,  where 
it  continued  the  work  of  Martins  Agrippa.  The  con- 
querors required  a  town  to  join  Melibocus  to  Taunus ; 
and  Moguntiacum,  begun  by  Marcus,  was  founded  by 
the  Legion,  built  by  Trajan,  and  embellished  by  Adrian. 
Singular  coincidence  I  and  which  we  must  note  in  pass- 
ing :  this  Twenty-second  Legion  brought  with  it  Cre- 
scentius,  who  was  the  first  who  carried  the  Word  of  God 
into  the  Rhingau,  and  founded  the  new  religion.  God 
ordained  that  these  ignorant  men,  who  had  pulled  down 
the  last  stone  of  his  temple  upon  the  Jordan,  should  lay 
the  first  of  another  upon  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  After 
Trajan  and  Adrian  came  Julian,  who  erected  a  fortress 
upon  the  confluence  of  the  Rhine  and  the  Moselle ;  then 
Valentinian,  who  built  a  number  of  castles  on  the  two 
extinct  volcanoes,  which  we  name  the  Lowemberg  and 
the  Stromberg.  And  so  we  find  in  a  few  centuries  that 
vigorous  line  of  Roman  colonies  consolidated  and  united 
on  the  river,  which  are  known  by  the  following  titles : 
Vinicella,  Altavilla,  Lorca,  Trajani  castrum,  Versalia, 
Mola  Romanorum,  Turris  Alba,  Victoria,  Rodobriga, 
Antoniacum,  Sentiacum,  Rigodunum,  Rigomagum,  and 
Tulpetum  Broilum,  which  extends  from  the  Cornu 
Romanorum  to  Lake  Constance,  descends  the  Rhine, 
resting  on  Augusta,  the  modern  Basle ;  on  Argentina, 
the  modern  Strasburg ;  on  Moguntiacum,  now  Mayence ; 
on  Confluentia,  now  Coblentz ;  and  on  Colonia  Agrippina, 
now  Cologne,  and  unites  itself  near  the  ocean  to  Trajec- 
tum  ad  Mosam,  now  Maestricht,  and  to  Trajectum  ad 
Rhenum,  now  Utrecht. 


134  THE   RHINE. 

From  that  time  the  Rhine  was  Eoman.  It  was  no 
longer  anything  but  a  stream,  watering  the  farther  Hel- 
vetic province,  the  first  and  second  Germany,  the  first 
Belgian,  and  the  Batavian  provinces.  The  long-haired 
Gaul  of  the  North  was  tamed,  —  that  Gaul  whom  the 
togaed  Gaul  of  Milan  and  the  trousered  Gaul  of  Lyons 
used  to  go  to  see  from  curiosity  in  the  third  century. 
The  Roman  castles  on  the  left  bank  kept  the  right  bank 
in  awe,  and  the  legionary,  clad  in  the  cloth  of  Treves 
and  armed  with  a  halberd  of  Tongres,  had  nothing  to 
do  but  watch  from  the  top  of  the  rocks  the  old  war- 
chariot  of  the  Germans,  —  a  rolling  tower,  with  scythe- 
armed  wheels,  and  a  pole  bristling  with  pikes,  drawn  by 
oxen,  having  a  castle  in  which  ten  archers  found  room,  — 
which  dared  to  come  sometimes  from  the  other  side  of 
the  Rhine,  even  under  the  balista  of  the  fortresses  of 
Drusus. 

This  frightful  passage  of  the  men  of  the  North  to  the 
regions  of  the  South,  which  is  renewed  with  fatal  conse- 
quence at  certain  climacteric  epochs  in  the  life  of  nations, 
and  which  is  styled  the  invasion  of  the  barbarians,  came 
to  overwhelm  Rome  when  the  moment  had  arrived  for 
Rome's  transformation. 

The  granite  and  military  barrier  of  the  citadels  was 
crushed  by  this  inundation,  and  towards  the  sixth  cen- 
tury the  heights  of  the  Rhine  were  crowned  by  Roman 
ruins,  as  they  are  to-day  by  feudal  ruins.  Charlemagne 
restored  the  ruins,  rebuilt  the  fortresses,  and  opposed  the 
old  Germanic  hordes  now  appearing  under  other  names, 
—  the  Bremans,  Abodrites,  Welebates,  and  Sarabes.     He 


THE  RHINE.  135 

built  at  Mayence,  where  his  wife  Fastrada  was  buried,  a 
bridge  on  stone  piles,  the  ruins  of  which,  it  is  said,  can 
still  be  seen  under  water ;  repaired  the  Roman  roads  of 
Victoria,  now  Neuwied ;  of  Bacchiara,  now  Bacharach ; 
of  Vinicella,  now  Winkel ;  and  of  Thronus  Bacchi,  now 
Trarbach ;  restored  the  aqueduct  of  Bonn ;  and  con- 
structed from  the  remains  of  a  bath  of  Julian  a  palace, 
—  the  Saal  at  Nieder-Ingelheim. 

Already,  as  I  before  mentioned,  an  unperceived  germ 
was  sprouting  in  the  Pthingau.  Religion,  that  divine 
eagle,  began  to  spread  its  wings,  and  deposited  among 
the  rocks  an  egg  that  contained  the  germ  of  a  world. 
Saint  Apollinaire,  following  the  example  of  Crescentius, 
who  in  the  year  70  preached  the  Word  of  God  at  Taunus, 
visited  Rigomagum ;  Saint  Martin,  Bishop  of  Tours,  cate- 
chised Confluentia ;  Saint  Materne,  before  visiting  Ton- 
gres,  resided  at  Cologne.  At  Treves,  Christians  began 
to  suffer  the  death  of  martyrdom,  and  their  ashes  were 
swept  away  by  the  wind ;  but  these  were  not  lost,  for 
they  became  seeds  which  were  germinating  in  the  fields 
during  the  passage  of  the  barbarians,  although  nothing 
at  that  time  was  seen  of  them. 

After  an  historical  period  the  Rhine  became  linked 
with  the  marvellous.  Where  the  noise  of  man  is  hushed. 
Nature  lends  a  tongue  to  the  nests  of  birds,  causes  the 
caves  to  whisper,  and  the  thousand  voices  of  solitude  to 
murmur ;  where  historical  facts  cease,  imagination  gives 
life  to  shadows  and  realities  to  dreams.  Fables  took 
root,  grew,  and  blossomed  in  the  voids  of  history,  like 
weeds  and  brambles  in  the  crevices  of  a  ruined  palace. 


136  THE  RHINE. 

Civilization,  like  the  sun,  has  its  nights  and  its  days, 
its  plentitudes  and  its  eclipses  ;  now  it  disappears,  but 
soon  returns. 

As  soon  as  civilization  again  dawned  upon  Taunus, 
there  were  upon  the  borders  of  the  Ehiue  a  whole  host 
of  legends  and  fabulous  stories.  In  every  part  lit  up  by 
this  distant  radiance,  a  thousand  supernatural  and  charm- 
ing figures  suddenly  sprang  into  splendour,  whilst  in  all 
the  gloomy  parts  hideous  forms  and  grisly  phantoms 
came  to  life  also. 

Then,  while  the  beautiful  Saxon  and  Gothic  castles, 
to-day  dismantled,  were  being  built  out  of  fine  new 
basalt,  close  to  the  Eoman  ruins,  to-day  vanished  en- 
tirely, a  whole  population  of  imaginary  beings,  in  direct 
communication  with  handsome  ladies  and  fair  knights, 
spread  themselves  over  the  Ehingau ;  Oreads  took 
possession  of  the  woods.  Undines  of  the  waters.  Gnomes 
of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  ;  and  there  were,  too,  the 
Spirit  of  the  Rocks,  the  Smiter,  the  Black  Huntsman 
riding  through  the  thickets  on  an  immense  sixteen- 
antlered  stag,  the  Maid  of  the  Black  Swamp,  the  Six 
Maidens  of  the  Red  Swamp,  Wodan  the  six-handed  god,  the 
Twelve  Black  Men,  the  starling  who  propounded  riddles, 
the  raven  who  croaked  her  song,  the  magpie  who 
recounted  the  history  of  her  grandmother,  the  marmosets 
of  the  Zeitelmoos,  Everard  of  the  beard  who  gave  advice 
to  princes  led  astray  while  hunting,  and  Sigfried  the 
Horned  who  attacked  dragons  in  their  caves.  The  devil 
placed  his  stone  at  Teufelstein  and  his  ladder  at  Teufels- 
leiter;  he  had  the  audacity  even   to  preach  pubHcly  at 


THE   RHINE.  137 

Gernsbach,   near   the    Black   Forest ;    but  happily   God 
raised  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  opposite  the  Devil's 
Pulpit,  the  Angel's  Pulpit.     While  the  Seven  Mountains, 
that  vast   extinct  volcano,   was  becoming  the  abode   of 
monsters,   hydras,   and   gigantic   spectres,   at  the   other 
extremity  of  the  chain,  the  keen  breath  of  the  Wisper 
brought  to  Bingen  clouds  of  old  fairies  as  small  as  grass- 
hoppers.    Mythology  grafted  itself   in  these  valleys  on 
the  legends  of  the  saints,  producing  singular  results,  — 
queer  flowers  of  the  human  imagination.    The  Drachenfels 
had,   under   other   names,   its    Tarascus    and   its     Saint 
Martha ;   the  double  fable  of  Echo  and  Hylas  found  a 
home   in   the  formidable  rock  of   Lurley;    the  Maiden- 
Serpent  crept  through  the  undergrounds  of  Augst ;  Hatto, 
the    wicked   bishop,   was    eaten    in   his    tower    by   his 
subjects,  changed  into  rats ;  the  Seven  Scornful   Sisters 
of  Schoenberg  were  metamorphosed  into  rocks,  and  the 
Rhine  had  its  Damsels,  just  as  the  Meuse  had  its  Dames. 
The  demon  Urian  passed  the  Ehine  with  the  hill  he  took 
from  the  sea-shore  at  Leyden  on  his  back,  doubled  in  two 
like   a  miller's  sack,  in  order  to  crush  Aix-la-Chapelle. 
Exhausted  by  fatigue  and  deceived  by  an  old  woman,  he 
stupidly   dropped   it   at   the  gates  of  the  imperial  city, 
where   to-day   it   is   called   Looseberg.      At  this   epoch, 
plunged  in  a  darkness  through  which  a  few  magic  sparks 
flit   here   and  there,  we  find  in  these  hills  and  valleys 
and  rocks  nothing  but  apparitions,   visions,  tremendous 
encounters,  diabolical  hunts,  infernal  castles,  sounds  of 
harps  in  copses,  melodious  songs  sung  by  invisible  singers, 
frightful  bursts  of  laughter  from  mysterious  wayfarers. 


138  THE   RHINE. 

Human  heroes,  almost  as  fantastic  as  supernatural 
personages,  —  Cuno  of  Sayn,  Sibo  of  Lorch,  he  of  the  Strong 
Sword,  Griso  the  pagan,  Thassilo  Duke  of  Bavaria, 
Anthysus  Duke  of  the  Franks,  Samo  King  of  the 
Wends,  —  wander  in  these  bewildering  woods,  all  out  of 
their  senses,  searching  and  weeping  for  their  lost  loves, 
long  and  slender  white  princesses  with  such  charming 
names  as  Gela,  Garlinda,  Liba,  Williswinda,  and  Schonetta. 
All  these  adventurers,  half-lost  in  the  impossible  and 
scarcely  holding  by  the  heel  to  reality,  come  and  go 
in  the  legends,  in  the  evening  hopelessly  astray  in  forests 
that  have  no  outlet,  trampling  briers  and  branches  under 
the  hoofs  of  their  heavy  steeds,  like  the  Knight  of 
Death  of  Albert  Diirer,  followed  by  giant  greyhounds, 
stared  at  by  the  insects  between  two  branches,  and  ac- 
costing in  the  dark  some  black  charcoal-burner  seated  by 
his  fire,  who  turns  out  to  be  Satan  heaping  his  caldron 
with  the  souls  of  sinners.  Again,  nymphs  entirely  naked, 
who  offer  these  travellers  caskets  full  of  precious  stones, 
or  little  old  men  who  restore  to  them  their  sister  or 
daughter  or  betrothed,  whom  they  have  found  on  a 
mountain  sleeping  on  a  bed  of  moss,  or  in  a  pavilion 
tapestried  with  corals,  shells,  and  crystals  ;  or  they  meet 
with  some  potent  dwarf  who,  say  the  old  poems,  speaks 
with  the  voice  of  a  giant. 

Among  these  chimerical  heroes,  rise  from  time  to  time 
figures  of  flesh  and  blood ;  above  all  Charlemagne  and 
Roland,  —  Charlemagne  at  all  ages,  child,  youth,  grey- 
beard ;  Charlemagne  whom  some  legends  would  have 
born  at  a  miller's  in  the  Black  Forest ;  and  Roland  whom 


THE   RHINE.  139 

other  legends  would  have  die,  not  at  Eoncesvalles,  under 
the  blows  of  an  entire  army,  but  of  love  on  the  Rhine, 
at  the  convent  of  Nonnenswerth ;  and  later  on,  Otho, 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  and  Adolphus  of  Nassau.  These 
historical  characters,  mixed  up  in  the  tales  with  fabulous 
personages,  show  forth  the  tradition  of  real  facts  that  still 
lie  under  the  rubbish  of  dreams  and  fancies,  —  history 
dimly  seen  through  fable,  an  old  ruin  appearing  here  and 
there  under  the  flowers  that  cover  it. 

At  length  the  darkness  disperses,  the  tales  fade  away, 
day  dawns,  civilization  recovers,  and  with  it  history 
resumes  its  true  form. 

Four  men,  come  together  from  four  different  quarters, 
assemble  now  and  then  near  a  stone  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  Ehine  a  few  paces  from  an  avenue  of  trees,  between 
Ehens  and  Kapellen.  These  four  men  sit  upon  the  stone, 
and  there  make  and  unmake  the  emperors  of  Germany. 
These  men  are  the  four  electors  of  the  Rhine;  this 
stone  is  the  royal  seat,  Konigstiihl. 

The  place  they  have  selected  is  nearly  in  the  middle  of 
the  Rhine.  It  is  equally  distant  from  Rhens,  which 
belongs  to  the  elector  of  Cologne,  and  at  the  same  time 
looks  towards  the  west,  on  the  left  bank  ;  from  Kapellen, 
which  belongs  to  the  elector  of  Treves  ;  and  towards  the 
north,  on  the  right  bank,  from  Oberlahn stein,  which 
belongs  to  the  elector  of  Mayence;  also  from  Braubach, 
belonging  to  the  Elector  Palatine.  In  a  single  hour,  each 
of  these  electors  can  reach  Konigstiihl  from  his  own 
territory. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  chief  burghers  of  Coblentz  and 


140  THE   KHINE. 

Ehens  can  assemble  every  year,  on  the  second  day  of 
Pentecost,  at  the  same  place,  under  pretext  of  a  festival, 
and  confer  together  on  certain  dark  questions,  —  a  begin- 
ning, this,  of  civic  life  secretly  making  its  hole  in  the 
formidable  Germanic  edifice  already  entirely  constructed  ; 
the  ever  living  and  eternal  conspiracy  of  the  little  against 
the  great,  sprouting  audaciously  near  Konigstiihl,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  stone  throne  of  feudality  itself. 

Almost  at  the  same  point,  in  the  electoral  castle 
of  Stolfzenfels,  which  towers  over  the  little  town  of 
Kapellen,  to-day  a  magnificent  ruin,  Werner,  Archbishop 
of  Cologne,  lodged  and  boarded,  from  1380  to  1418,  certain 
alchemists  who  did  not  make  gold,  but  who  discovered,  on 
their  road  to  the  philosopher's  stone,  several  great  laws 
of  chemisty.  And  so,  in  a  comparatively  short  space  of 
time,  the  same  point  on  the  Ehine  —  a  place  opposite  the 
mouth  of  the  Lahn  scarcely  noticed  to-day  —  was  the 
birthplace  of  democracy  and  science  for  the  German 
empire. 

From  this  time  forward,  the  Ehine  assumed  a  two- 
fold aspect,  —  the  one  military,  the  other  religious.  Abbeys 
and  convents  multiplied ;  and  the  churches  on  the 
declivities  connected  the  strongholds  on  the  mountains 
with  the  villages  on  the  river  banks,  —  a  striking  image, 
renewed  at  every  turn  of  the  stream,  of  the  fashion  in 
which  the  priest  ought  to  be  situated  in  human  society. 
The  ecclesiastical  princes  multiplied  the  buildings  in 
Ehingau,  as  the  priests  of  Eome  had  done  a  thousand 
years  before.  Archbishop  Baldwin  of  Treves  built  the 
church  of  Oberwesel ;  Archbishop  Henry  of  Wittingen 


THE   RHINE.  141 

constructed  the  bridge  of  Coblentz  over  the  Moselle ; 
Archbishop  Walram  of  Guliers  sanctified  by  a  stone  cross 
magnificently  sculptured  the  Koman  ruins  and  volcanic 
formation  of  Godersberg,  —  ruins  and  hills  with  no  small 
suspicion  of  magic  about  them.  The  temporal  and 
spiritual  power  is  blended  in  these  princes  as  in  the 
Pope;  hence,  a  twofold  jurisdiction  which  seizes  soul 
and  body,  and  does  not  stop,  as  in  purely  secular  states  in 
presence  of  the  benefit  of  clergy.  John  of  Barnich, 
chaplain  of  Saint  Goar,  poisons  with  communion  wine  a 
Countess  of  Katzenellenbogen ;  and  then  the  Elector  of 
Cologne  excommunicates  him,  as  his  bishop,  and  has  him 
burned  alive,  as  his  prince. 

The  Elector  Palatine,  on  his  side,  is  under  the  necessity 
of  constantly  protesting  against  the  possible  encroach- 
ments of  the  three  Archbishops  of  Cologne,  Treves,  and 
Mayence ;  and  the  Countesses  Palatine,  as  a  sign  of 
their  sovereignty,  are  delivered  of  their  offspring  in  the 
Pf alz,  —  a  tower  built  before  Caub,  in  the  very  middle  of 
the  Ehine. 

The  orders  of  chivalry,  established  themselves  at  the 
same  time  on  the  Rhine,  amid  these  simultaneous  or  suc- 
cessive developments  of  the  Prince  Electors.  The  Teutonic 
order  is  installed  at  Mayence,  in  sight  of  Taunus,  whilst 
near  Treves,  in  view  of  the  Seven  Mountains,  the  Knights 
of  Ehodes  take  up  a  position  at  ]\Iartinshof.  From 
Mayence  the  Teutonic  order  branched  to  Coblentz, 
where  one  of  its  commanderies  was  formed.  The 
Templars,  already  masters  of  Courgenay  and  Porentruy 
in  the  Bishopric  of  Basle,  had  Boppart  and  Saint  Goar 


142  THE   KHLNE. 

on  the  border  of  the  Rhine  and  Trarbach  between  the 
Ehine  and  the  Moselle.  This  was  the  same  Trarbach, 
a  land  of  exquisite  wines,  indeed  the  Thronus  Bacchi  of 
the  Eomans,  which  belonged  to  Peter  Flotte,  whom  Pope 
Boniface  called  "  one-eyed  in  body  and  totally  blind  in 
mind." 

While  princes  and  bishops  and  knights  were  laying 
their  foundations,  commerce  was  planting  its  colonies. 
A  crowd  of  little  trading  cities  arose  in  imitation  of 
Coblentz  on  the  Moselle  and  Mayence  before  the  Mein, 
at  the  meeting  points  of  all  the  rivers  and  torrents  which 
are  poured  into  the  Rhine  from  the  innumerable  valleys  of 
the  Hlindsruck  and  Hohenruck,  from  the  crests  of 
Hammerstein  and  the  Seven  Mountains.  Bingen  was 
established  on  the  Nalie,  Niederlahnstein  on  the  Lahn, 
Engers  opposite  the  Sayn,  Gorlich  on  the  Wied,  Linz, 
in  face  of  the  Aar,  Rheindorf  on  the  Mahrbachs,  and 
Berghein  on  the  Sieg.  However,  notwithstanding  the 
intervals  that  separated  the  ecclesiastical  princes  and  the 
feudal  princes,  the  commanderies  of  the  knightly  monks 
and  the  bailiwicks  of  the  communes,  the  spirit  of  the 
time  and  the  nature  of  the  country  gave  birth  to  a 
singular  race  of  lords.  From  Lake  Constance  to  the  Seven 
Mountains  every  crest  on  the  Rhine  had  its  burg  and  its 
burgrave.  These  formidable  barons  of  the  Rhine,  the 
robust  products  of  a  harsh  and  savage  nature,  nestling 
among  briers  and  basaltic  rocks,  secure  in  their  battle- 
mented  dens  and  served  by  their  kneeling  officers  just  like 
the  emperor  himself,  men  of  prey  with  the  qualities  of 
the  eagle  and  the  owl,  powerful  in  their  neighbourhood. 


THE   RHINE.  143 

but  powerful  only  there,  lorded  it  over  valley  and  ravine, 
levied  soldiers,  beat  up  the  highway  to  enforce  tolls, 
plundered  traders  on  their  way  to  Dusseldorf  or  Saint 
Gall,  barred  the  Rhine  with  their  chain,  and  proudly 
sent  their  cartels  to  the  neighbouring  cities  when  the 
latter  presumed  to  interfere  with  them.  In  this  fashion 
did  the  burgrave  of  Ockenfels  challenge  the  big  commune 
of  Linz,  and  the  knight,  Hausner  of  the  Hegan,  the 
imperial  city  of  Kaufbeuern.  Sometimes,  in  these 
strange  duels,  the  cities,  not  feeling  themselves  strong 
enough,  grew  frightened  and  sought  the  aid  of  the 
emperor ;  then  the  burgrave  burst  out  laughing,  and  on 
the  next  festival  of  the  city's  patron  saint,  he  would 
show  himself  insolently  at  the  tournament  held  therein, 
mounted  on  his  miller's  ass.  During  the  frightful  wars 
of  Adolphus  of  Nassau  and  Didier  of  Isemberg,  several 
of  these  knights,  who  had  their  fortresses  in  the  Taunus, 
had  the  boldness  to  pillage  one  of  the  suburbs  of  May- 
ence  under  the  very  eyes  of  the  two  pretenders  for  the 
sovereignty  of  the  city.  It  was  their  policy  to  be  neutral. 
The  burgrave  was  for  neither  Isemberg  nor  Nassau  ;  he 
was  for  the  burgrave.  It  was  not  until  under  Maximilian, 
when  the  great  captain  of  the  Holy  Empire,  George 
of  Frundsburg,  had  destroyed  the  last  of  the  burgs  that 
this  terrible  species  of  nobility  died  away.  It  began  in 
the  tenth  century  with  the  hero-burgraves,  and  ended  in 
the  sixteenth  with  the  robber-burgraves. 

But  the  invisible  things  whose  results  do  not  take 
form  until  after  many  years  were  being  accomplished  on 
the  Rhine  also,  as  well  as  commercial  progress ;  and  on 


144  THE   RHINE. 

the  ships  of  the  latter,  the  spirit  of  heresy  and  of  freedom 
of  inquiry  floated  up  and  down  the  great  river,  upon 
which  it  seems  every  great  idea  of  humanity  was  to  find 
a  passage.  It  might  be  said  that  the  soul  of  Tanquelin, 
who  preached  in  the  twelfth  century  against  the  Pope  in 
front  of  the  cathedral  of  Antwerp,  sailed  up  the  Ehine 
after  his  death,  and  inspired  John  Huss  at  his  lodgings 
in  Constance,  then  descended  the  Rhone  from  the  Alps 
and  aroused  Doucet  in  the  Comtat  of  Avignon.  John 
Huss  was  burned  and  Doucet  was  quartered.  The  hour 
of  Luther  had  not  yet  struck.  In  the  ways  of  Providence 
there  are  some  men  for  the  green  fruit,  and  other  for 
the  ripe  fruit. 

The  sixteenth  century  approached :  in  the  fourteenth 
the  Rhine  witnessed  the  invention  of  artillery ;  and  on  its 
bank,  at  Strasburg,  a  printing-office  was  first  established. 
In  1400  the  famous  cannon,  fourteen  feet  in  length,  was 
cast  at  Cologne ;  and  in  1472  Vindelin  de  Spire  printed  his 
Bible.  A  new  world  was  making  its  appearance  ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  it  was  upon  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  that 
those  two  mysterious  tools  with  which  God  unceasingly 
works  out  the  civilization  of  man  —  the  catapult  and  the 
book,  war  and  thought  —  took  a  new  form. 

The  Rhine,  in  the  destinies  of  Europe,  has  a  sort  of 
providential  signification.  It  is  the  great  moat  which 
divides  the  north  from  the  south.  The  Rhine  for  thirty 
ages  has  seen  the  forms  and  reflected  the  shadows  of 
almost  all  the  warriors  who  tilled  the  old  continent  with 
that  share  which  they  call  sword.  Csesar  crossed  the 
Rhine  in  going  to  the  south  ;    Attila  crossed   it  when 


THE   RHINE.  145 

descending  to  the  north.  It  was  here  that  Clovis  gained 
the  battle  of  Tolbiac,  and  that  Charlemagne  and 
Napoleon  figured.  Frederick  Barbarossa,  Eodolph  of 
Hapsburg,  and  Frederick  I.  were  great,  victorious,  and 
formidable  when  here.  For  the  thinker,  who  is  con- 
versant with  history,  two  great  eagles  are  perpetually 
hovering  over  the  Ehine,  —  that  of  the  Roman  legions, 
and  the  eagle  of  the  French  regiments. 

The  Ehine  —  that  noble  flood,  which  the  Eomans 
named  Rhenus  swperhus  —  bore  at  one  time  upon  its  surface 
bridges  of  boats,  over  which  the  armies  of  Italy,  Spain, 
and  France  poured  into  Germany,  and  which,  at  a  later 
date,  were  made  use  of  by  the  hordes  of  barbarians  when 
rushing  into  the  ancient  Eoman  world ;  at  another,  on  its 
surface  it  floated  peaceably  the  fir-trees  of  Murg  and  of  Saint 
Gall,  the  prophyry  and  the  marble  of  Bale,  the  salt  of 
Karlshall,  the  leather  of  Stromberg,  the  quicksilver  of 
Lansberg,  the  wine  of  Johannisberg,  the  slates  of  Coab, 
the  cloth  and  earthenware  of  Wallendar,  the  silks  and 
linens  of  Cologne.  It  majestically  performs  its  double  func- 
tion of  flood  of  war  and  flood  of  peace,  having,  without  in- 
terruption, upon  the  ranges  of  hills  which  embank  the  most 
notable  portion  of  its  course,  oak-trees  on  one  side  and 
vine-trees  on  the  other,  —  signifying  strength  and  joy. 

For  Homer  the  Ehine  existed  not ;  for  Virgil  it  was 
only  a  frozen  stream,  —  Frigora  Rheni ;  for  Shakspeare 
it  was  the  "  beautiful  Ehine  ;  "  for  us  it  is,  and  will  be  to 
the  day  when  it  shall  become  the  grand  question  of 
Europe,  a  picturesque  river,  the  resort  of  the  unemployed 
of  Ems,  of  Baden,  and  of  Spa. 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  10 


146  THE   HHIXE. 

Petrarch  visited  Aix-la-Chapelle,  but  I  do  not  thin 
he  has  spoken  of  the  Ehine. 

The  left  bank  belongs  naturally  to  France :  Provi- 
dence, at  three  different  periods,  gave  it  its  two  banks,  — 
under  Pepin-le-Bref,  Charlemagne,  and  Napoleon.  The 
empire  of  Pepin-le-Bref  comprised,  properly  speaking, 
Prance,  with  the  exception  of  Aquitaine  and  Gascony, 
and  Germany  as  far  as  Bavaria.  The  empire  of 
Charlemagne  was  twice  as  large  as  that  of  Napoleon. 

It  is  true  that  Napoleon  had  three  empires,  or,  more 
plainly  speaking,  was  emperor  in  three  ways, —  immedi- 
ately and  directly  of  France,  and,  by  his  brothers,  of 
Italy,  Westphalia,  and  Holland.  Taken  in  this  sense, 
the  empire  of  Napoleon  was  at  least  equal  to  that  of 
Charlemagne. 

Charlemagne,  whose  empire  had  the  same  centre  and 
the  same  mode  of  generation  as  that  of  Napoleon,  took 
and  concentrated  around  the  heritage  of  Pepin-le-Bref, 
Saxony  as  far  as  the  Elb,  Germany  up  to  the  Saal, 
Esclavonia  as  far  as  the  Danube,  Dalmatia  as  far  as  the 
mouth  of  the  Cattaro,  Italy  as  far  as  Gaeta,  and  Spain  up 
to  the  Ebro. 

He  stopped  in  Italy  only  at  the  boundaries  of  the 
Beneventines  and  the  Greeks,  and  in  Spain  at  the  fron- 
tiers of  the  Saracens, 

When  this  immense  concentration  was  disorganized  in 
843,  Louis  le  Debonnaire  having  died,  after  allowing  the 
Saracens  to  retake  their  portion, —  that  is  to  say,  all  that 
slice  of  Spain  between  the  Ebro  and  the  Llobregat, —  there 
was  still  enough  left  of  the  three  portions  into  which  the 


•  THE   RHINE.  147 

empire  was  broken  to  require  the  government  of  an 
emperor.  Lotliaire  had  Italy  and  a  great  triangular  frag- 
ment of  Gaul,  Louis  had  Germany,  and  Charles  France. 
Then,  in  855,  when  the  first  of  these  three  fragments  was 
divided  in  its  turn,  it  was  possible  to  make  out  of  these 
morsels  of  a  morsel  of  the  Carlovingian  empire,  an 
emperor, —  Louis, with  Italy;  a  king, —  Charles,  with  Pro- 
vence and  Burgundy ;  and  another  king,  —  Lothaire, 
with  Austrasia,  called  for  this  reason  Lotharingia,  now 
Lorraine.  When  the  time  came  for  the  second  portion 
to  break  up,  the  largest  part  formed  the  empire  of 
Germany ;  and  in  the  smaller  remnants  a  numberless 
swarm  of  counties,  duchies,  principalities,  and  free  cities, 
protected  by  margraves,  the  guardians  of  the  frontiers, 
were  installed.  At  last,  when  the  third  morsel,  the  State 
of  Charles  the  Bald,  bent  and  broke  under  the  weight  of 
years  and  of  princes,  this  last  ruin  sufficed  for  the  crea- 
tion of  a  king  (the  king  of  France),  five  sovereign  dukes 
(the  dukes  of  Burgundy,  Normandy,  Brittany,  Aquitaine, 
and  Gascony),  and  of  three  count-princes  (the  counts  of 
Champagne,  Toulouse,  and  Flanders). 

These  emperors  are  Titans  :  for  a  moment  they  hold 
the  universe  in  their  hands ;  then  death  wrenches  it 
from  their  grasp,  and  everything  falls  to  pieces. 

It  may  be  said  that  the  right  bank  of  the  Ehine 
belonged  to  Napoleon  as  it  did  to  Charlemagne. 

Bonaparte  did  not  dream  of  a  duchy  of  the  Ehine,  as 
some  mediocre  statesmen  did  in  the  long  struggle 
between  the  House  of  France  and  the  House  of  Austria. 
He  knew  that  a  longitudinal  realm  which  is  not  insular 


148  THE   RHINE.  • 

is  impossible;  it  is  bent  and  cut  in  two  at  the  first  vio- 
lent shock.  A  principality  must  not  affect  simple  order 
merely;  if  States  are  to  maintain  their  independence, 
profound  order  is  necessary.  With  the  exception  of 
certain  mutilations  and  agglomerations,  the  emperor  took 
the  confederation  of  the  Ehine,  such  as  geography  and 
history  had  made  it,  and  was  satisfied  to  systematize  it. 
The  confederation  of  the  Ehine  must  be  an  obstacle  in 
the  way  of  the  north  or  of  the  south.  It  was  in  the  way 
of  France  ;  the  emperor  reversed  its  position.  His  policy 
was  a  hand  which  placed  and  displaced  empires  with  the 
force  of  a  giant  and  the  sagacity  of  a  chess-player.  By 
rendering  the  princes  of  the  Ehine  more  powerful,  he  saw 
that  he  was  giving  more  power  to  the  crown  of  France, 
and  lessening  that  of  the  crown  of  Germany.  And  in 
truth,  when  the  electors  became  kings,  when  the  mar- 
graves and  landgraves  became  grand  dukes,  they  gained 
in  relation  to  Austria  and  Eussia  what  they  lost  in  rela- 
tion to  France.  Great  in  front,  little  in  the  rear,  they 
were  kings  for  the  emperors  of  the  north,  prefects  for 
Napoleon. 

The  Ehine  has  had  four  distinct  phases, —  first,  the 
antedeluvian  epoch,  volcanoes ;  second,  the  ancient  his- 
torical epoch,  in  which  Cfesar  shone  ;  third,  the  marvellous 
epoch,  in  which  Charlemagne  triumphed ;  fourth,  the 
modern  historical  epoch,  when  Germany  wrestled  with 
France,  when  Napoleon  for  a  time  held  his  sway. 

The  Ehine  —  providential  flood  —  seems  to  be  a  sym- 
bolical stream.  In  its  windings,  in  its  course,  in  the 
midst  of  all  that  it  traverses,  it  is,  so  speaking,  the  image 


THE  RHINE.  149 

of  civilization  to  which  it  has  been  so  useful,  and  which 
it  will  still  serve.  It  flows  from  Constance  to  Kotterdam  ; 
from  the  country  of  eagles  to  the  village  of  herrings; 
from  the  city  of  popes,  of  councils,  and  of  emperors,  to 
the  counter  of  the  merchant  and  of  the  citizen ;  from  the 
great  Alps  themselves  to  that  immense  body  of  water 
which  we  term  ocean. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  MOUSE. 

Velmich.  —  Legend  of  the  Priest  and  the  Silver  Bell.  —  Giant's  Tomb.  — 
Explanation  of  the  Mouse.  —  The  Solitary  Inhabitants  of  the  Ruin. 


o 


N  mv  leaving  Cologne  it  rained  the  whole  of  the 
morning.  I  had  taken  my  passage  to  Andernach 
by  the  "  Stadt  Manheim,"  but  had  not  proceeded  far  up 
the  Ehine,  when  suddenly  —  I  do  not  know  by  what 
caprice,  for  ordinarily  upon  the  lake  of  Constance  the 
south-west  winds,  the  Favonius  of  Virgil  and  of  Horace, 
bring  storms  —  the  immense  opaque  cloud  which  pended 
over  our  heads,  burst,  and  began  to  disperse  itself  in  all 
directions.  Shortly  after,  a  blue  vault  appeared ;  and 
bright  warm  rays  caused  the  travellers  to  leave  the  cabin 
and  hurry  to  the  deck. 

At  that  moment  we  passed  —  with  vines  on  the  one 
side  and  oaks  on  the  other  —  an  old  and  picturesque 
village  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river.  It  was  that  of 
Velmich,  above  which  rose,  almost  vertically,  one  of  those 
enormous  banks  of  lava  that  resemble  the  cupola  in  its 
immeasurable  proportions.  Upon  this  volcanic  mound 
stands  the  ruin  of  a  superb  feudal  fortress.  On  the 
borders  of  the  river  a  group  of  young  women,  busily 
chatting,  were  bleaching  their  linen  in  the  rays  of  the 
sun. 


THE  MOUSE.  151 

This  sight  was  too  tempting.  I  could  not  pass  with- 
out paying  the  ruin  a  visit ;  for  I  knew  that  it  was  that 
of  Velmich,  —  the  least  esteemed  and  least  frequented 
upon  the  Rhine. 

For  the  traveller,  it  is  difficult  to  approach,  and,  some 
say,  dangerous  ;  for  the  peasant,  it  abounds  with  spectres, 
and  is  the  subject  of  frightful  tales.  It  is  infested  with 
living  flames,  which  hide  themselves  by  day  in  subter- 
raneous vaults,  and  at  night  become  visible  on  the 
summit  of  the  round  tower.  This  enormous  turret  is  an 
immense  pit,  which  descends  far  beneath  the  level  of  the 
Rhine.  A  seigneur  of  Velmich,  called  Falkenstein,  —  a 
name  fatal  in  the  legends,  —  threw  into  this  aperture, 
unshriven,  whomsoever  he  pleased :  it  is  the  troubled 
souls  of  those  that  were  thus  murdered  who  inhabit  the 
castle.  There  was  at  that  epoch,  in  the  steeple  of 
Velmich,  a  silver  bell  which  was  given  by  Winifred, 
Bishop  of  Mayenne,  in  the  year  740,  memorable  time, 
when  Constantine  VI.  was  emperor  of  Rome.  This  bell 
was  once  rung  for  the  prayers  of  forty  hours,  when  a  lord 
of  Velmich  was  seriously  ill.  Falkenstein,  who  did  not 
believe  in  God,  and  who  even  doubted  the  existence  of 
the  devil,  being  in  want  of  money,  cast  an  envious  look 
upon  the  handsome  bell.  He  caused  it  to  be  taken  from 
the  church  and  brought  to  him.  The  prior  of  Velmich 
was  much  affected  at  the  sacrilege,  and  went,  in  sacer- 
dotal habiliments,  preceded  by  two  children  of  the  choir 
bearing  the  cross,  to  demand  the  bell.  Falkenstein 
burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  crying,  — 


152  THE  RHINE. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  you  wish  to  have  your  bell,  do  you  ?  Well, 
you  shall  have  it ;  and  I  warrant  it  never  will  leave  you 
more ! " 

Thereupon,  the  bell  was  tied  round  the  priest's  neck, 
and  both  were  thrown  into  the  pit  of  the  tower.  Then, 
upon  the  order  of  Falkenstein,  large  stones  were  thrown 
into  the  pit,  filling  up  about  six  feet.  A  few  days  after- 
wards, Falkenstein  fell  ill ;  and  when  night  came,  the 
doctor  and  the  astrologer,  who  were  watching,  heard  with 
terror  the  knell  of  the  silver  bell  coming  from  the  depths 
of  the  earth.  Next  morning  Falkenstein  died.  Since 
that  time,  as  regularly  as  the  years  roll  over,  the  silver 
bell  is  heard  ringing  under  the  mountains,  reminding  the 
inhabitants  of  the  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Falkenstein. 
So  runs  the  legend. 

On  the  neighbouring  mountain,  that  on  the  other  side 
of  the  torrent  of  Velmich,  is  the  tomb  of  an  ancient 
giant ;  for  the  imagination  of  man  (he  who  has  seen 
volcanoes,  the  great  forges  of  Nature)  has  put  Cyclops 
wherever  the  mountains  smoked,  giving  to  every  iEtna 
its  Polyphemus. 

I  began  to  ascend  the  ruins  between  the  souvenir  of 
Falkenstein  and  that  of  the  giant.  I  must  tell  you  that 
the  best  way  was  pointed  out  to  me  by  the  children  of 
the  village,  for  which  service  I  allowed  them  to  take  some 
of  the  silver  and  copper  coins  of  those  people  from  my 
purse,  —  things  the  most  fantastic,  yet  still  the  most 
intelligible  in  the  world. 

The  road  is  steep,  but  not  at  all  dangerous,  except  to 


THE  MOUSE.  153 

persons  subject  to  giddiness ;  or,  perhaps,  after  excessive 
rains,  when  the  ground  and  rocks  are  slippery.  One  thing 
sure  is,  that  this  ruin  has  one  advantage  over  others  upon 
the  Ehine,  —  that  of  being  less  frequented. 

No  officious  person  follows  you  in  your  ascent;  no 
exhibitor  of  spectres  asks  you  to  "remember  him;"  no 
rusty  door  stops  you  on  your  way  :  you  climb,  stride  over 
the  old  ladder,  hold  on  by  tufts  of  grass  ;  no  one  helps 
nor  no  one  annoys  you.  At  the  expiration  of  twenty 
minutes  I  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill,  and  stopped  at 
the  threshold  of  the  ruin.  Behind  me  was  a  steep  ladder 
formed  of  green  turf ;  before  me,  a  lovely  landscape  ;  at 
my  feet,  the  village;  beyond  the  village,  the  Rhine, 
crowned  by  sombre  mountains  and  old  castles  ;  and  round 
and  above  the  mountains,  a  bright  blue  sky. 

Having  taken  breath,  I  began  to  ascend  the  steep  stair- 
case. At  that  instant  the  dismantled  fortress  appeared  to 
me  with  such  a  tattered  aspect,  an  aspect  so  wild  and 
formidable,  that  I  should  not  have  been  the  least 
surprised  to  have  seen  some  supernatural  form  carrying 
flowers,  —  for  instance,  Gela,  the  betrothed  of  Barbarossa ; 
or  Hildegarde,  the  wife  of  Charlemagne,  that  amiable 
empress,  who  was  well  acquainted  with  the  occult  virtues 
of  herbs  and  minerals,  and  whose  foot  often  trod  the 
mountains  when  she  was  in  search  of  medicinal  plants. 
I  looked  for  a  moment  towards  the  north  wall,  with  a  sort 
of  vague  desire  to  see  start  from  the  stones  a  host  of 
hobgoblins,  —  which  are  "  all  over  the  north,"  as  the 
gnome  said  to  the  Canon  of  Sayn,  —  or  the  three  little  old 
women,  singing  the  legendary  song,  — 


154  THE   RHINE. 

"  Sur  la  tombe  du  geant 
J'ai  cueilli  trois  bris  d'orties  : 
En  fil  les  ai  converties  ; 
Prenez,  ma  soeur,  ce  present." 

But  I  was  forced  to  content  myself  without  seeing  or  even 
hearing  anything  except  the  notes  of  a  blackbird,  perched 
upon  some  adjoining  rock. 

I  entered  the  ruins.  The  round  tower,  although  the 
summit  is  partly  dismantled,  is  of  a  prodigious  elevation. 
On  all  sides  are  immense  walls  with  shattered  windows, 
rooms  without  doors  or  roofs,  floors  without  stairs,  and 
stairs  without  chambers.  I  have  often  admired  the  care- 
fulness with  which  Solitude  keeps,  encloses,  and  defends 
that  which  man  has  once  abandoned.  She  barricades  and 
thicksets  the  threshold  with  the  strongest  briers,  the  most 
stinging  plants,  nettles,  brambles,  thorns,  thus  showing 
more  nails  and  talons  than  are  in  a  menagerie  of  tigers. 

But  Nature  is  beautiful  even  in  her  strangest  freaks ; 
and  the  wild  flowers  —  some  in  bud,  others  in  blossom, 
and  some  garbed  in  autumnal  foliage  —  present  an 
entanglement  at  once  startling  and  beautiful.  On  this 
side  are  bluebells  and  scarlet  berries  ;  on  that  are  the  haw- 
thorn, gentian,  strawberry,  thyme,  and  sloe-tree.  To  my 
right  is  a  subterraneous  passage,  the  roof  falling  in  ;  and 
to  my  left  is  a  tower  without  any  visible  aperture.  It  is 
now  changed  into  a  gulf.  There  are  superb  blasts  of 
wind,  and  a  glorious  sky  is  discerned  through  the  fissures 
of  the  immense  wall.  I  climb  by  a  grass-covered  stair- 
case into  a  kind  of  lofty  hall.  From  it  I  see  nothing  but 
two  magnificent  landscapes,  some  hills  and  villages.     I 


THE  MOUSE.  155 

lean  over  the  compartment  at  the  bottom  of  which  is  the 
subterranean  gulf.  Above  my  head  are  two  remains  of 
chimneys  in  blue  granite  of  the  fifteenth  century.  There 
are  vestiges  of  soot  and  smoke  on  the  hearth  and  traces 
of  paintings  upon  the  windows.  Above  me  is  a  pretty 
turret  without  roof  or  staircase  full  of  flowering  plants 
that  bend  forward  to  look  at  me.  I  hear  the  laughter  of 
the  washerwomen  of  the  Rhine.  Then  I  descend  into  a 
low  hall,  —  nothing,  only  traces  of  excavation  in  the 
pavement,  the  result  of  the  searches  of  the  peasants  for 
treasures  supposed  to  have  been  hidden  by  the  gnomes. 
There  is  another  low  hall,  with  a  square  hole  in  the  centre 
looking  into  a  vault.  Two  names  are  on  the  wall,  — 
Phaedovius,  Kugorga.  I  write  mine  beside  them  with  a 
pointed  piece  of  basalt.  There  is  another  vault,  but  I  see 
nothing  in  it.  Then  I  look  again  at  the  gulf.  It  is  in- 
accessible. A  sunbeam  penetrates  it.  This  subterranean 
place  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  square  donjon  which 
occupied  the  angle  opposite  the  round  tower.  It  must 
have  been  the  prison  of  the  burg.  A  vast  compartment 
faces  the  Ehine.  I  perceive  three  chimneys,  one  of  which 
has  broken  little  columns  at  different  heights.  Three 
stories  have  fallen  just  below  me,  and  at  the  bottom  are 
two  arched  vaults.  There  are  some  dead  branches  on  top 
of  one,  and  on  the  other,  two  twigs  of  ivy  wave  gracefully. 
I  descend,  and  discover  vaults  built  upon  the  basaltic 
rock  of  the  mountain  itself.  There  are  traces  of  smoke. 
In  the  other  great  compartment  into  which  I  entered  at 
first,  and  which  must  have  been  the  court,  there  is,  near 
the  round  tower,  white  plaster   on  the  wall  with  the 


156  THE  RHINE. 

remains  of  a  painting,  and  these  two  ciphers  traced  in  red : 
23  — 18  — (sic)    9^  ^     •     ^  "^^^^  ^^^^^  ^^^®  exterior  of 


the  castle,  following  the  fosse.  I  attempted  to  climb,  and 
found  it  no  easy  task.  It  is  necessary  to  clamber  from 
bush  to  bush  above  a  rather  deep  precipice.  There  is  no 
vestige  of  a  door  or  aperture  at  the  bottom  of  the  great 
tower.  There  are  some  remains  of  paintings  on  the 
machicolations.  The  wind  turns  the  leaves  of  my  note- 
book and  hinders  me  from  writing.  I  will  enter  the  ruin 
again.  I  do  so.  I  write  on  a  little  green  projection  which 
the  old  wall  lends  me. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  this  huge  ruin  is  called  the 
Mouse.  I  will  inform  you  how  it  received  that  appella- 
tion :  — 

In  the  twelfth  century  there  was  nothing  here  but  a 
small  borough,  which  was  watched,  and  often  molested, 
by  a  strong  castle  called  the  Cat.  Kuno  de  Falkenstein, 
who  inherited  this  paltry  borough,  razed  it  to  the  ground, 
and  built  a  castle  much  larger  than  the  neighbouring  one, 
declaring  that,  "  henceforth,  it  should  be  the  Mouse  that 
would  devour  the  Cat." 

He  was  right.  The  Mouse,  in  fact,  although  now  in 
ruins,  is  a  redoutable  godmother,  with  its  haunches  of 
lava  and  basalt,  and  entrails  of  extinguished  volcano, 
which  with  seeming  haughtiness  support  it.  I  do  not 
think  that  any  person  has  had  occasion  to  laugh  at  that 
mountain  which  brought  forth  the  Mouse. 

I  wandered  about  the  ruins,  first  in  one  room,  then  in 
another,  —  admiring  at  one  time  a  beautiful  turret ;  now 


THE  MOUSE.  157 

descending  into  a  cave,  groping  my  way  through  some 
subterraneous  passage ;  then  finding  myself  looking 
through  an  aperture  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  Ehine. 

The  sun  at  last  began  to  disappear,  which  is  the  time 
for  spectres  and  phantoms.  I  was  still  in  the  ruins.  In- 
deed, it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  had  become  a  wild  school- 
boy. I  wandered  everywhere ;  I  climbed  up  every 
acclivity ;  I  turned  over  the  large  stones ;  I  ate  wild  mul- 
berries ;  I  tried  by  my  noise  to  bring  the  supernatural 
inhabitants  from  their  hiding-places ;  and,  as  I  trod 
among  the  thick  grass  and  herbs,  I  inhaled  that  acerb 
odour  of  the  plants  of  old  ruins  which  I  so  much  loved  in 
my  boyhood. 

As  the  sun  descended  behind  the  mountains,  I  thought 
of  leaving,  when  I  was  startled  by  something  strange 
moving  by  my  side.  I  leaned  forward.  It  was  a  lizard  of 
an  extraordinary  size,  —  about  nine  inches  long,  with  an 
immense  belly,  a  short  tail,  a  head  like  that  of  a  viper,  and 
black  as  jet,  which  was  gliding  slowly  towards  an  open- 
ing in  an  old  wall.  That  was  the  mysterious  and  solitary 
inhabitant  of  the  ruin,  an  animal  at  the  same  time  real 
and  fabulous,  —  a  salamander,  which  looked  at  me  with 
mildness  as  it  entered  its  hole. 


CHAPTEE    XVI. 


THE   MOUSE. 


Colossal  Profile.  —  The   Dnchy   of  M.   de  Nassau.  —  Country 
Sports  :   their  Punishment.  —  The  Boatman. 

I    COULD  not  leave  this  ruin  ;  several  times  I  began 
to  descend,  then  reascended.     Nature,  like  a  smiling 
mother,  indulges  us  in  our  dreams  and  in  our  caprices. 

At  length,  when  leaving  the  Mouse,  the  idea  struck  me 
to  apply  my  ear  to  the  basement  of  the  large  tower.  I 
did  so,  trusting  to  hear  some  noise,  yet  scarcely  flattering 
myself  that  Winifred's  bell  would  deign  to  awake  itself 
for  me.  At  that  moment — oh,  wonder  of  wonders!  — 
I  heard  —  yes,  heard  with  mine  own  ears  —  a  vague, 
metallic  sound,  an  indistinct  humming  of  a  bell,  gliding 
through  the  crepuscule,  and  seemingly  coming  from 
beneath  the  tower.  I  confess  that  this  strange  noise 
brought  vividly  to  my  memory  the  speech  of  Hamlet 
to  Horatio ;  but  suddenly  I  was  called  from  the  world  of 
chimeras  to  that  of  reality.  I  soon  discovered  that  it 
was  the  Ave  Maria  of  some  village  floating  with  the 
evening  breeze.  It  mattered  not.  All  that  I  had  to  do 
v/as  to  believe  and  say  that  I  heard  the  mysterious  bell 
of  Velmich  tinkling  under  the  mountain. 


THE   LAWS   OF  NASSAU.  159 

As  I  left  the  north  moat,  which  is  now  a  thorny  ravine, 
the  Giant's  Tomb  suddenly  presented  itself.  From  the 
point  where  I  stood,  the  rock  figures,  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain,  close  to  the  Ehine,  the  colossal  profile  of  a 
head,  hanging  backwards,  with  open  mouth.  One  is 
ready  to  believe  that  the  giant,  who,  according  to  the 
legend,  lies  there,  crushed  under  the  weight  of  the 
mountain,  was  about  to  raise  the  enormous  mass,  and 
that,  on  his  head  appearing  between  the  rocks,  an  Apollo 
or  a  Saint  Michael  put  his  foot  upon  the  mountain  and 
crushed  the  monster,  who  expired  in  that  posture,  uttering 
a  fearful  shriek,  which  is  lost  in  the  darkness  of  forty 
ages  ;  but  the  mouth  still  remains  open. 

.1  must  declare  that  neither  the  giant,  the  silver  bell, 
nor  the  spectre  of  Falkenstein  prevents  the  vine  and 
weeds  mounting  from  terrace  to  terrace  near  the  Mouse. 
So  much  the  worse  for  the  phantoms  of  this  country  of 
the  grape,  for  the  people  do  not  hesitate  to  take  the  vine 
that  clusters  round  their  dismantled  dwelling  to  procure 
themselves   the  wherewithal  to  make  wine. 

But  the  stranger,  even  the  most  thirsty,  must  be 
cautious  how  he  plucks  the  fruit,  to  him  forbidden.  At 
Velmich  we  are  in  the  duchy  of  M.  de  Nassau,  and  the 
laws  of  Nassau  are  rigorous  respecting  such  country 
sports.  The  delinquent,  if  caught,  is  forced  to  pay  a 
sum  equivalent  to  the  depredations  or  "  delights  "  of  all 
those  who  are  lucky  enough  to  escape.  A  short  time  ago 
an  English  tourist  plucked  and  ate  a  plum,  for  which  he 
had  to  pay  fifty  florins. 

I  wished  to  reach  Saint  Goar,  which  is  on  the  left  bank, 


160  THE  RHINE. 

half  a  league  higher  up  than  Velmieh.  A  village  boat- 
man rowed  me  across  the  Rhine,  and  deposited  me 
politely  on  the  hearth  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  —  for  the 
left  bank  is  the  King  of  Prussia's.  When  the  good 
man  left  me,  he  gave  me  directions  in  a  composite  lan- 
guage, half  Grerman,  half  Gaulish,  as  to  the  road  I  was 
to  follow.  I  must  have  misunderstood  him,  for  instead 
of  taking  the  path  along  the  river,  I  cut  across  the  moun- 
tain, and  so  went  a  little  astray. 

While  I  was  crossing  the  lofty  reddish  plains,  over 
which  the  boisterous  evening  wind  was  blowing,  a  ravine 
suddenly  presented  itself  on  my  left.  I  entered  it,  and 
after  a  very  steep  descent  along  a  path  like  a  staircase, 
formed  of  wide  slates,  I  had  a  view  of  the  Ehine  again. 
Then  I  sat  down.    I  was  tired. 

Daylight  had  not  yet  entirely  disappeared ;  but  it 
was  darkness  in  the  ravine  and  in  the  valleys  of  the 
left  bank,  backed  against  the  black  hills.  But  an  ex- 
quisite rosy  light,  reflected  by  the  purple  sunset,  floated 
over  the  mountains  on  the  other  side  of  the  Pihine,  and 
over  the  vague  outlines  of  the  ruins  which  appeared 
everywhere.  Beneath  me,  in  an  abyss,  the  Ehine, 
whose  murmurs  reached  me,  was  hidden  under  a  sheet 
of  white  mist,  through  which  the  spire  of  some  Gothic 
tower  pierced,  half  submerged  in  the  fog.  A  town  was 
doubtless  there,  concealed  by  the  vapour.  On  my  right 
I  perceived,  a  few  furlongs  lower  down,  the  grass-covered 
roof  of  a  big  grey  tower,  standing  proudly  on  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  without  embattlements  or  staircase,  evi- 
dently dismantled.     I  heard  above  my  head  the  voices 


SAINT  GOAR.  161 

and  steps  of  wayfarers,  whose  shadows  I  saw  stirring  in 
the  darkness.     The  roseate  light  had  disappeared. 

I  remained  long  there,  resting  and  musing,  and  watched 
silently  the  sombre  hour  efface  slowly  the  mists  and  fogs, 
and  the  fantastic,  lugubrious  forms  taken  by  the  outlines 
of  the  different  objects.  Some  stars  seemed  to  be  nailing 
the  black  shroud  of  night  to  the  zenith  over  one  half  the 
heavens,  and  the  white  winding-sheet  of  twilight  over 
the  other. 

Gradually  the  sound  of  steps  and  voices  in  the  ravine 
ceased  ;  the  wind  fell,  and  with  it  the  gentle  rustling  of 
the  grass,  which  takes  part  in  the  conversation  of  the 
wayfarer  and  keeps  him  company.  No  noise  came  from 
the  invisible  town.  The  Ehine  itself  seemed  reposing. 
A  livid  and  ominous  cloud  invaded  the  immense  space 
between  east  and  west ;  the  stars  veiled  their  faces,  one 
after  another ;  and  I  had  over  me  one  of  those  leaden 
skies,  through  which  soars,  visible  only  to  the  poet,  that 
bat  which  bears  on  his  body  the  word  melancholia. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  breeze,  the  fog  was  torn  asunder, 
the  church  came  out  clearly.  A  dark  mass  of  houses, 
pierced  by  a  thousand  lighted  windows,  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  the  precipice,  through  the  chasm  made  in  the 
fog.     It  was  Saint  Goar. 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  11 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

SAINT   GOAR. 

The  Cat.  —  Its  Interior.  —  Fabulous  Rock  of  Lurley.  —  The  Swiss  Valley. 
—  The  Fruit  Girl.  — The  Reichenberg,  —  The  Barbers'  Village.— 
Legend.  —  The  Rheinfels.  —  Oberwesel.  —  French  Hussar.  —  A  Ger- 
man Supper. 

A  WEEK  might  be  very  agreeably  spent  at  Saint  Goar, 
which  is  a  neat  little  town  lying  between  the  Cat 
and  the  Mouse.  To  the  left  is  the  Mouse,  half  enveloped 
in  the  fog  of  the  Ehine  ;  and  to  the  right  is  the  Cat,  a 
huge  dungeon,  with  the  picturesque  village  of  Saint 
Goarshausen  lying  at  its  base.  The  two  formidable 
castles  seem  to  be  casting  angry  looks  across  the  country,  • 
their  dilapidated  windows  presenting  a  most  hideous 
aspect.  In  front,  upon  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  and 
apparently  ready  to  incite  the  two  adversaries,  is  the  old 
colossal  spectre  palace  of  the  Landgraves  of  Hesse. 

The  Rhine  at  Saint  Goar,  with  its  sombre  embank- 
ments, its  shadows,  its  rippling  waters,  resembles  a  lake 
of  Jura  more  than  it  does  a  river. 

If  we  remain  in  the  house,  we  have  all  day  before  us 
a  view  of  the  Rhine,  with  rafts  floating  on  its  surface. 
Here  sailing-vessels,  there  steamboats,  which,  when 
passing,  make  a  noise  resembling  that  of  a  huge  dog 
when  swimming.     In  the  distance,  on  the  opposite  bank, 


Sf.  Goar,  Lurley  Rock. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


OREADE   OF  LURLEY.  163 

under  the  shade  of  some  beautiful  walnut-trees,  we  see 
the  soldiers  of  M.  de  Nassau,  dressed  in  red  coats  and 
white  trousers,  performing  their  exercise,  while  the 
rolling  of  the  drum  of  a  petty  duke  strikes  our  ear. 
Under  our  windows  the  women  of  Saint  Goar,  with  their 
sky-blue  bonnets,  pass  to  and  fro ;  and  we  hear  the 
prattling  and  laughing  of  children,  who  are  diverting 
themselves  on  the  river's  brink. 

If  we  go  out  we  can  get  across  the  Ehine  for  six  sous, 
—  the  price  of  a  Parisian  omnibus  ;  then  we  may  amuse 
ourselves  by  paying  a  visit  to  the  Cat,  which  is  an  inter- 
esting ruin.  The  interior  is  completely  dismantled.  The 
lower  room  of  the  tower  is  at  present  used  as  a  storehouse. 
Several  vine-trees  twine  themselves  round  it,  and  even 
grow  upon  the  floor  of  the  portrait-gallery.  In  a  small 
room,  the  only  one  that  has  a  window  and  door,  a  picture 
representing  Bohdan  Chmielnicki  is  nailed  to  the  wall, 
with  two  or  three  portraits  of  reigning  princes  hung 
round  about  it. 

From  the  height  of  the  Cat  the  eye  encounters  the 
famed  gulf  of  the  Khine,  called  the  Bank.  Between  the 
Bank  and  the  square  tower  of  Saint  Goarshausen  there 
is  only  a  narrow  passage,  the  gulf  being  on  one  side,  and 
the  rock  on  the  other.  A  little  beyond  the  Bank,  in  a 
wild  and  savage  turning,  the  fabulous  rock  of  Lurley, 
with  its  thousand  granite  seats,  which  give  it  the  appear- 
ance of  a  falling  ladder,  descends  into  the  Rhine.  There 
is  a  celebrated  echo  here,  that  responds  seven  times  to  all 
that  is  said  and  all  that  is  sung.  If  it  were  not  to  appear 
that  I  wished  to  detract  from  the  celebrity  of  the  echo, 


164  THE  KHINE. 

I  would  say  that  to  me  the  repetition  was  never  above 
five  times.  It  is  probable  that  the  Oreade  of  Lurley, 
formerly  courted  by  so  many  princes  and  mythological 
counts,  begins  to  get  hoarse  and  fatigued.  The  poor 
nymph  has  at  present  no  more  than  one  admirer,  who 
has  made  himself  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Rhine  two 
chambers  in  the  rocks,  where  he  passes  his  days  in  play- 
ing the  horn  and  in  discharging  his  gun.  The  man  who 
gives  the  echo  so  much  employment,  is  an  old  brave 
French  hussar. 

The  effect  of  the  echo  of  Lurley  is  truly  extraordinary. 
A  small  boat,  crossing  the  Rhine  at  this  place,  makes  a 
tremendous  noise  ;  and,  should  we  shut  our  eyes,  we 
might  believe  that  it  was  a  galley  from  Malta,  with  its 
fifty  large  oars,  each  moved  by  four  galley-slaves. 

Before  leaving  Saint  Goarshausen,  we  must  go  and  see, 
in  an  old  street  which  runs  parallel  with  the  Rhine, 
a  charming  little  house  of  the  German  Renaissance. 
Afterwards  we  turn  to  the  right,  cross  a  bridge,  and 
enter,  amidst  the  noise  of  a  water-mill,  the  Swiss  Valley, 
—  a  superb  ravine,  almost  Alpine,  formed  by  the  high  hill 
of  Petersberg,  and  by  the  brow  of  the  Lurley. 

The  Swiss  Valley  is  certainly  a  delightful  promenade. 
We  ascend  acclivities,  descend  ;  we  meet  high  villages, 
plunge  into  dark  and  narrow  passages,  in  one  of  which  I 
saw  the  ground  that  had  lately  been  torn  up  by  the 
tusks  of  a  wild  boar ;  or  we  proceed  along  the  bottom  of 
the  ravine,  with  rocks  resembling  the  walls  of  Cyclops 
on  each  side.  Then,  if  we  draw  towards  the  other  road, 
which  abounds  with  farms  and  mills,  all  that  meets  the 


THE  REICHENBERG.  165 

eye  seems  arranged  and  grouped  for  Poussin  to  insert  into 
a  corner  of  his  landscape,  —  a  shepherd,  half  naked,  in  a 
field  with  his  flock,  contentedly  whistling  some  air;  a 
cart  drawn  by  oxen  ;  and  pretty  girls  with  bare  feet.  I 
saw  one  who  was  indeed  charming  ;  she  was  seated  near 
a  fire,  drying  her  fruit ;  she  lifted  up  her  large  blue  eyes 
towards  heaven,  —  eyes  like  diamonds,  and  countenance 
darkened  by  the  heat  of  the  sun.  Her  neck,  which  was 
partly  covered  by  a  collar,  was  marked  with  small-pox, 
and  under  her  chin  was  a  swelling.  With  that  detrac- 
tion, joined  to  such  beauty,  one  might  have  taken  her  for 
an  Indian  idol,  squatted  near  its   altar. 

We  cross  a  meadow  ;  the  hares  of  the  ravine  run  here 
and  there,  and  we  suddenly  behold,  at  the  top  of  a  hill, 
an  admirable  ruin.  It  is  the  Eeichenberg,  in  which,  during 
the  wars  of  "  manual  rights,"  in  the  Middle  Ages,  one  of 
the  most  redoutable  of  those  gentlemen  bandits  who 
bore  the  epithet  of  "  the  scourge  of  the  country  "  lived. 
The  neighbouring  village  had  cause  for  lamentation,  the 
emperor  had  reason  for  summoning  the  brigand  to  his 
presence ;  but  the  man  of  iron,  secure  in  his  granite 
house,  heeded  him  not,  but  continued  his  depredations, 
his  orgies  of  rapine  and  plunder,  and  lived  excommuni- 
cated by  the  church,  condemned  by  the  Deity,  tracked 
by  the  emperor,  until  his  white  beard  descended  to  his 
stomach.  I  entered  the  Eeichenberg.  There  is  nothing 
in  that  cave  of  Homeric  thieves  but  wild  herbs  ;  the 
windows  are  all  dismantled,  and  cows  are  seen  grazing 
round  the  ruins. 

Behind  the  hill  of  the  Eeichenberg  are  the  ruins  of  a 


166  THE  RHINE. 

town,  which  has  all  but  disappeared,  and  which  bore  the 
name  of  the  "  Barbers'  Village."  The  following  is  the 
account  given  of  it :  — 

The  devil,  wishing  to  avenge  himself  on  Frederick 
Barbarossa  for  his  numerous  crusades,  took  it  into  his 
head  to  have  the  beard  of  the  crusader  shaved.  He  made 
arrangements  that  the  Emperor  Barbarossa,  when  passing 
through  Bacharach,  should  fall  asleep,  and  when  in  that 
state,  be  shaved  by  one  of  the  numerous  barbers  of  the 
village.  A  tricky  fairy,  as  small  as  a  grasshopper,  went 
to  a  giant,  and  prayed  him  to  lend  her  a  sack.  The  giant 
consented,  and  even  graciously  offered  to  accompany  her, 
at  which  she  expressed  her  extreme  delight.  The  fairy, 
after  walking  by  the  side  of  such  a  hugh  creature,  had, 
no  doubt,  swelled  herself  into  a  tolerable  bulk,  for  on 
arriving  at  Bacharach  she  took  the  sleeping  barbers,  one 
by  one,  and  placed  them  in  the  sack ;  after  which,  she  told 
the  giant  to  put  it  upon  his  back,  and  to  take  it  away  — 
that  it  did  not  matter  where  it  was  placed.  It  being 
night,  the  giant  did  not  preceive  what  the  old  woman  had 
done ;  he  obeyed  her,  and  strode  off  with  his  accustomed 
strides.  The  barbers  of  Bacharach,  heaped  one  over 
another,  awoke,  and  began  to  move  in  the  sack.  The 
giant,  through  fright,  increased  his  pace.  As  he  traversed 
the  Keichenberg,  one  of  the  barbers,  who  had  his  razor 
in  his  pocket,  drew  it  out,  and  made  so  large  a  hole  in 
the  sack  that  all  the  barbers  fell  out,  screaming  fright- 
fully. The  giant,  thunderstruck,  imagining  that  he  had 
a  nest  of  devils  on  his  back,  saved  himself  by  means 
of   his   enormous  legs.     When  the  emperor  arrived   at 


THE  KHEINFELS.  167 

Bacliarach  there  was  not  a  barber  in  the  place  ;  and  on 
Beelzebub  coming  to  see  the  deed  performed,  a  raven, 
perched  upon  the  gate  of  the  town,  said  to  his  Grace  the 
devil,  — 

"  My  friend,  in  the  middle  of  your  face  you  have  some- 
thing so  large  that  you  could  not  see  it  even  in  a  looking- 
glass,  —  that  is,  un  pied  de  nez." 

Since  that  time  there  has  been  no  barber  at  Bacharach  ; 
and  even  to  this  day,  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  shop 
belonging  to  one  of  the  fraternity.  As  for  those  stolen 
by  the  fairies,  they  established  themselves  where  they 
fell,  and  built  a  town  upon  the  spot,  which  they  called  the 
"Barbers'  Village."  Thus  it  is  that  the  Emperor  Fred- 
erick I.  preserved  his  beard  and  his  surname. 

Besides  the  Mouse,  the  Cat,  the  Lurley,  the  Swiss 
Valley,  and  the  Reichenberg,  there  is  also  near  Saint  Goar 
the  once  formidable  castle  that  shook  before  Louis  XIV., 
and  crumbled  under  Napoleon,  —  the  Eheinfels. 

It  is  a  mountain  excavated  in  all  directions,  and 
crested  with  ruins  overhead.  There  are  two  or  three 
stories  of  subterranean  apartments  and  corridors  which 
look  as  if  they  were  hollowed  out  by  colossal  moles ; 
immense  halls  with  arched  openings  fifty  feet  wide ;  seven 
dungeons  with  their  oubliettes  full  of  stagnant  water 
which  gives  forth  a  flat,  dead  sound  if  a  stone  is  thrown 
into  it ;  the  rattle  of  the  water-mills  in  the  little  valley 
behind  the  castle,  and  through  the  chinks  in  the  front 
wall  the  Rhine  appears,  with  some  steamboat  which  seen 
from  that  height  seems  a  big  green  fish  with  yellow  eyes, 
trained  to  carry  men  and  carriages  on  its  back ;  then  the 


168  THE  RHINE. 

feudal  palace  of  the  landgraves  of  Hesse  changed  into  an 
enormous  pile  of  ruins  with  embrasures  for  catapults  and 
cannon,  resembling  the  dens  for  wild  beasts  in  the  old 
Eoman  circuses.  In  every  crevice  grass  is  growing  ;  the 
roughhewn  basalts  and  slates  give  to  the  groinings  the 
appearance  of  scythes  and  open  jaws.  Such  is  Kheinfels  ; 
it  can  be  seen  for  two  sous. 

It  looks  as  if  the  earth  trembled  under  this  ruin.  But 
it  was  not  an  earthquake  ;  it  was  Napoleon  who  happened 
to  pass  that  way.  In  1807  he  blew  up  the  Eheinfels. 
Strange  to  say,  the  whole  structure  tumbled  down  except 
the  four  walls  of  the  chapel.  The  traveller  cannot  visit 
without  a  certain  melancholy  emotion  this  abode  of  peace 
alone  preserved  in  the  middle  of  the  frightful  devastation 
of  this  citadel.  In  the  embrasures  of  the  windows  are 
these  grave  inscriptions,  two  for  each  window  :  "  Sanctus 
Franciscus  de  Paula  vixit  1500."  "  Sanctus  Franciscus 
vixit  1526."  "  Sanctus  Dominicus  vixit  [effaced]."  "  Sanc- 
tus Albertus  vixit  1292."  "Sanctus  Norbertus,  1150." 
"Sanctus  Bernardus,  1139."  "Sanctus  Bruno,  1115." 
"Sanctus  Benedictus,  1140."  There  is  a  name  effaced; 
and  then,  after  thus  ascending  the  Christian  ages  from 
aureole  to  aureole,  we  reach  these  majestic  lines, — 
"  Sanctus  Basilius  magnus,  episc.  Csesarese  Cappadoci, 
magister  monachorum  orientalium,  vixit  anno  372." 
Beside  Basil  the  Great,  under  the  door  of  the  chapel,  are 
inscribed  these  two  names :  "  Sanctus  Antonius  magnus. 
Sanctus  Paulus  eremita."  These  are  all  the  bomb  and 
mine  respected. 

The    ancient   "  Gazette   de   France,"   printed    at    the 


THE   RHEINFELS.  169 

Louvre,  announces  on  the  23d  of  January,  1693,  that 
"  the  landgrave  of  Hesse-Cassel  takes  possession  of  the 
town  of  Saint  Goar  and  of  the  Eheinfels  ceded  to 
him  by  the  landgrave  Frederick  of  Hesse,  vi^ho  has 
decided  to  end  his  days  at  Colgone."  In  the  follow- 
ing number,  dated  the  5th  of  February,  it  makes  known 
the  fact  that  "five  hundred  peasants  are  working  with 
the  soldiers  at  the  fortifications  of  the  Eheinfels."  A 
fortnight  after,  it  proclaims  that  "  the  Count  of  Thingen 
is  constructing  redoubts  and  suspending  chains  on  the 
Ehine."  Why  did  this  landgrave  fly  ?  Why  are  these 
peasants  working  along  with  the  soldiers  ?  Why  the 
haste  for  these  redoubts  and  chains  ?  The  answer  is 
that  Louis  the  Great  has  frowned.  War  with  Germany 
is  going  to  begin.  The  Eheinfels  of  to-day,  over  the 
door  of  which  the  ducal  crown  of  the  landgraves  is 
still  seen,  emblazoned  in  red,  is  simply  the  outhouse 
of  a  farm.  A  few  vines  grow  here  and  there,  a  few 
goats  are  browsing.  In  the  evening,  this  ruin  defined 
with  its  open  windows  against  the  sky,  presents  a 
magnificent  spectacle. 

Eeascending  the  Ehine,  about  a  mile  from  Saint  Goar 
(the  Prussian  mile,  like  the  Spanish  legua  and  the  hour's 
march  of  the  Turks,  is  equal  to  two  French  leagues) 
we  suddenly  approach,  at  the  opening  of  two  moun- 
tains, a  fine  feudal  town  on  the  middle  of  a  hill  and 
sloping  down  to  the  river,  with  old  streets  such  as  we 
only  see  at  Paris  in  the  decorations  of  the  Opera,  fourteen 
battlemented  towers,  and  two  large  churches  of  the 
purest  Gothic  period.     It  is  Oberwesel,  one  of  the  most 


170  THE   RHINE. 

warlike  cities  of  the  Ehiue.  The  old  walls  of  Oberwesel 
are  riddled  with  cauon  and  musket  balls.  There  we  can 
decipher  as  on  a  palimpsest  the  big  iron  bullets  of  the 
Archbishops  of  Treves,  the  Biscayans  of  Louis  XIV.,  and 
our  own  revolutionary  grapeshot.  To-day  Oberwesel 
is  nothing  more  than  a  veteran  turned  into  a  vintager. 
By  the  way,  its  red  wine  is  excellent. 

Like  almost  all  the  cities  on  the  Ehine,  Oberwesel  has 
its  ruined  castle  on  its  mountain,  the  Schoenberg,  one 
of  the  most  admirable  ruins  in  Europe.  It  was  in 
Schoenberg  castle  that  those  seven  merry  and  cruel 
damsels  lived,  whom  you  may  see  to-day,  through  the 
breaches  of  their  castle,  changed  into  seven  rocks  in  the 
middle  of  the  river. 

The  excursion  from  Saint  Goar  to  Oberwesel  is  most 
attractive.  The  path  skirts  the  Rhine,  which  here 
suddenly  narrows  and  seems  strangled  between  high 
hills.  The  spot  is  deserted,  silent,  and  wild.  Great 
piles  of  slate,  half-eaten  away,  issue  from  the  stream 
and  cover  the  bank  with  heaps  of  gigantic  scales. 
Now  and  then  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  sort  of 
immense  spider  formed  of  two  transversal  rods,  crossed, 
and  again  united  at  their  centre  and  held  at  their 
culminating  point  by  a  big  knot  attached  to  a  lever, 
and  plunging  their  four  points  into  the  water.  It  is 
a  spider  really.  At  certain  times  the  mysterious  lever 
moves  amid  the  solitude  and  the  silence,  and  the 
hideous  insect  is  seen  to  rise  slowly,  holding  between 
its  claws  its  web,  in  which  jumps  and  writhes  a  fine 
silvery  salmon. 


ECHO  OF  SAINT  GOAR.  171 

In  the  evening,  after  we  have  taken  one  of  those 
delightful  walks  which  tend  to  open  the  deep  caverns 
of  the  stomach,  we  return  to  Saint  Goar,  and  find,  at 
the  top  of  a  long  table,  surrounded  by  smokers,  an  excel- 
lent German  supper,  with  partridges  larger  than  chickens. 
We  recruit  our  strength  marvellously,  —  that  is,  if  our 
appetite  be  so  good  as  to  permit  us  to  overlook  a  few  of 
the  strange  rencontres  which  often  take  place  on  the 
same  plate ;  for  instance,  a  roast  duck  with  an  apple 
pie,  or  the  head  of  a  wild  boar  with  preserves.  Just 
before  the  supper  draws  to  a  close,  a  flourish  of  a  trumpet, 
mingling  with  the  report  of  a  gun,  is  suddenly  heard. 
We  hurry  to  the  window.  It  is  the  French  hussar,  who 
is  rousing  from  dormancy  the  echo  of  Saint  Goar,  which 
is  not  less  marvellous  than  that  of  Lurley.  Each  gunshot  is 
equal  to  the  report  of  a  cannon  ;  each  blast  of  a  trumpet 
is  echoed  with  singular  distinctness  in  the  profound 
darkness  of  the  valley.  It  is  an  exquisite  symphony, 
which  seems  to  be  mocking  while  it  pleases  us.  As  it 
is  impossible  to  believe  that  this  huge  mountain  can 
produce  such  an  effect,  at  the  expiration  of  a  few  minutes 
we  become  dupes  of  illusion,  and  the  most  grave  thinker 
is  ready  to  swear  that  in  those  shades,  under  some 
fantastic  thicket,  dwells  a  solitary,  a  supernatural  being, 
a  sort  of  fairy,  a  Titania,  who  amuses  herself  by 
delicately  parodying  the  music  of  mortals,  and  throwing 
down  the  half  of  a  mountain  every  time  she  hears  the 
report  of  a  gun.  The  effect  would  be  still  greater  if  we 
could  for  a  short  time  forget  that  we  are  at  the  window 
of   an   inn,  and  that   that   extraordinary  sensation   has 


172  THE   RHINE. 

served  as  an  extra  plate  to  dessert.  But  all  passes  away 
very  naturally  ;  the  performance  over,  a  waiter  belonging 
to  the  auberge  enters  with  a  tin  plate  in  his  hand,  which 
he  presents  to  the  inmates.  Then  all  is  finished,  and 
each  retires  after  having  paid  for  his  eclio. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


BACHAKACH. 


Furstenberg,  Sonnech,  and  Heimberg.  —  Europe.  —  A  Happy  Little 
World.  —  The  Cemetery. 

THIS  is  one  of  the  oldest,  the  prettiest,  and  the  most 
unknown  towns  in  the  world.  At  my  window  are 
cages  full  of  birds ;  from  the  roof  of  my  room  hangs  an 
old-fashioned  lantern ;  and  in  the  corner  is  a  ray  of  the 
sun  imperceptibly,  but  gradually,  advancing  towards  an 
old  oak  table. 

I  remained  three  days  at  Bacharach,  which  is  without 
exception  the  most  antique  group  of  human  habitations 
that  I  have  ever  seen.  One  might  imagine  that  some 
giant,  a  vender  of  hric-h-brac,  purposing  to  open  a 
shop  upon  the  Rhine,  had  taken  a  mountain  for  his 
counter,  and  placed  from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  with  a 
giant  taste,  heaps  of  enormous  curiosities. 

This  begins  under  the  Rhine  itself.  There  appears 
just  above  the  water  a  volcanic  rock,  which,  according 
to  some,  is  a  Keltic  peulven  ;  according  to  others,  a 
Roman  altar.  Those  who  hold  the  latter  view  call  it  the 
Ara  Bacchi.  Then,  two  or  three  old  worm-eaten  hulls  of 
ships  on  the  bank,  cut  in  two  and  placed  on  their  end^ 
which  serve  as  hovels  for  fishermen ;  then,  behind  these 


174  THE   RHINE. 

hovels,  an  embattled  enclosure,  flanked  by  four  of  the 
most  rent,  riddled,  and  crumbling  towers  that  man  has 
ever  seen ;  then,  opposite  this  walled  enclosure,  through 
which  the  modern  houses  have  pierced  for  themselves  win- 
dows and  balconies ;  and  farther  on,  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain,  is  an  indescribable  confusion  of  droll  edi- 
fices, fantastic  turrets,  humped  facades,  impossible  gables, 
whose  staircases  have  knobbed  staffs  springing  up  on  the 
several  steps  like  asparagus ;  massive  beams  carved  into 
delicate  arabesques,  voluted  lofts,  open  balconies,  chim- 
neys shaped  like  tiaras  and  crowns,  philosophically  full 
of  smoke ;  fantastic  iron  weathercocks,  which  are  not 
weathercocks  at  all,  but  capital  letters  cut  out  of  old 
manuscripts,  which  shriek  to  the  wind.  I  had  above  my 
head  an  R,  among  others,  which  was  constantly  repeat- 
ing its  own  name,  —  r-r-r-r-r  / 

In  this  wonderful  medley  is  a  square  —  a  twisted 
square  —  made  by  blocks  of  houses  dropped  at  hap- 
hazard from  the  heavens,  and  having  more  bays  and 
reefs  and  islets  and  promontories  than  a  gulf  of  Norway. 
On  one  side  of  this  square  are  two  polyhedrons,  com- 
posed of  Gothic  structures,  bulging  out,  sloping,  grimac- 
ing, and  shamelessly  holding  their  perpendicular  contrary 
to  all  the  laws  of  geometry  and  equilibrium.  On  the 
other  side  is  a  fine  and  rare  Roman  church,  with  a  loz- 
enged  portal,  surmounted  by  a  high  military  belfry,  and 
having  at  the  apsis  a  gallery  of  little  arches,  with  small 
marble  columns,  which  was  incrusted  on  all  sides  with 
tombs  of  the  Renaissance,  as  a  chalice  is  with  precious 
stones.     Above  the  Byzantine  church,  the  ruin  of  an- 


BACHARACH.  175 

other  church  of  the  fifteenth  century,  without  doors  or 
roof  or  glass,  is  seen,  —  a  magnificent  skeleton  outlined 
proudly  on  the  sky.  In  fine,  to  crown  the  whole,  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain,  the  ivy-covered  ruins  of  a 
Schloss,  the  castle  of  Stahlech,  the  residence  of  the 
Counts  Palatine  in  the  twelfth  century.  Such  is 
Bacharach. 

This  old,  fairy  town,  in  which  romance  and  legend 
abound,  is  peopled  by  inhabitants  who  —  old  and  young, 
from  the  urchin  to  the  grandfather,  from  the  young  girl 
to  the  old  dame  —  have  in  their  cast  of  features,  and  in 
their  walk,  something  of  the  thirteenth  century.  From 
the  summit  of  the  Schloss  we  have  an  immense  view, 
and  discover  in  the  embrasures  of  the  mountain  five 
other  castles  in  ruins,  —  upon  the  left  bank  of  the  river, 
Furstenberg,  Sonnech,  and  Heimberg  ;  to  the  west,  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  Gutenfels,  full  of  recollec- 
tions of  Gustavus  Adolphus ;  and  towards  the  east,  above 
the  fabulous  valley  of  Wisperthall,  the  manor,  where  the 
inhospitable  Sibo  de  Lorch  refused  to  open  the  door  to 
the  gnomes  on  stormy  nights. 

The  landscape  around  Bacharach  is  of  a  savage  char- 
acter. Cloud-capped  ruins,  abrupt  rocks,  fierce-rushing 
streams,  are  harmonious  accessories  to  this  austere  old 
city,  which  has  been  Roman  and  Gothic,  and  refuses  to 
become  modern.  Strange  to  say,  a  girdle  of  rocks  sur- 
rounding it  on  every  side  prevents  steamboats  from 
approaching,  and  thus  keeps  civilization  at  bay.  No 
discordant  touch  of  white  fronts  with  green  shutters 
unsettles  the  severe  harmony  of  the  whole.     Everything 


17G  THE   RHINE. 

is  in  unison.  The  very  name,  Bacliarach,  would  seem 
to  be  an  ancient  bacchanalian  cry,  modified  to  suit  a 
witches'  sabbath. 

As  a  faithful  historian  I  must,  however,  say  that  I 
have  seen  a  fashionable  milliner  installed  with  her  rose- 
ate ribbons  and  her  white  bonnets  under  an  awful  black 
ogive  tower  of  the  twelfth  century. 

The  Rhine  roars  proudly  around  Bacliarach.  It  seems 
that  he  loves  and  guards  haughtily  his  ancient  city.  One 
is  tempted  to  shout  to  him,  "  Well  roared,  lion  !  "  At  a 
gun-shot  from  the  city  he  becomes  a  whirlpool,  and 
turns  on  himself  in  a  circle  of  rocks,  imitating  the  foam 
and  fury  of  the  ocean.  This  wicked  spot  is  called  the 
"  Wildes  Gefaehrt."  It  is  more  frightful,  and  at  the 
same  time  far  less  dangerous,  than  the  Bank  of  Saint 
Goar.     We  must  not  always  judge  by  appearances. 

When  the  sun  gently  draws  the  clouds  apart,  and 
shines  through  a  gap  in  the  sky,  nothing  can  be  more 
entrancing  than  Bacliarach.  All  these  decrepit  and 
wrinkled  fac^ades  unknit  their  brows  and  expand.  The 
shadows  of  the  turrets  and  vanes  form  a  thousand  odd 
angles.  The  flowers  (there  are  flowers  everywhere) 
come  to  the  windows  at  the  same  time  as  the  women, 
and  on  every  threshold  appear  in  groups,  merry  or  tran- 
quil, children  and  old  men,  basking  indiscriminately  in 
the  sun,  —  the  old  men  with  that  pale  smile  which  says, 
"  Another  day,  then  !  "  the  children  with  that  sweet  look 
which  says,  "  Not  yet  1 " 

A  Prussian  sergeant  roams  about  among  these  good 
people,  in  uniform,  with  an  expression  between  a  dog 


BACIIARACH.  177 

and  a  wolf.  However,  whether  it  be  from  the  spirit  of 
the  country  or  jealousy  of  Prussia,  I  have  not  seen  in 
the  frames  hanging  on  the  walls  of  the  inns  a  picture  of 
any  great  man,  except  the  somewhat  rococo  profile  of 
that  conqueror  who  was  half  Napoleon  and  half  Louis 
XIV.,  who  was  a  true  hero,  a  true  thinker,  and  a  true 
prince  also,  —  Frederick  11. 

At  Bacharach  a  stranger  is  looked  upon  as  a  phenom- 
enon. The  traveller  is  followed  with  eyes  expressive 
of  bewilderment.  In  fact,  no  one,  except  it  be  a  poor 
painter,  plodding  his  way  on  foot,  with  a  wallet  upon  his 
back,  ever  visits  this  antique  capital,  —  this  town  of 
melancholy. 

I  must  not,  however,  forget  to  mention  that  in  the 
room  adjoining  mine  hangs  a  picture  purporting  to  repre- 
sent Europe.  Two  lovely  girls,  their  shoulders  bare,  and 
a  handsome  young  fellow,  are  singing.  The  following 
stanza  is  underneath  :  — 

Enchanting  Europe  !  where  all-smiling  France 
Gives  laws  to  fashion,  graces  to  the  dance  ; 
Pleasure,  fine  arts,  each  sweet  and  lovely  face, 
Form  the  chief  worship  of  thy  happy  race. 

Under  my  window  was  an  entire  little  world,  happy 
and  charming,  —  a  kind  of  court,  adjoining  a  Eoman 
church,  which  we  could  approach  by  a  dilapidated  stair. 
Three  little  boys  and  two  little  girls  were  playing  in  the 
grass,  which  reached  their  chins,  —  the  girls  every  now 
and  then  fighting  voluntarily  with  the  boys.  The  ages 
of  all  five  could  not  amount  to  more  than  fifty  years. 

VOL.  XXVII. —  12 


178  THE   RHINE. 

Beyond  the  tall  grass  were  trees  loaded  with  fruit.  In 
the  midst  of  the  leaves  were  two  scarecrows  dressed 
like  Lubins  of  the  Comic  Opera ;  and  although,  perhaps, 
they  had  the  effect  of  frightening  the  birds,  they  failed 
to  do  that  to  the  hergeronettes.  In  all  corners  of  the 
garden  were  flowers  glittering  in  the  rays  of  the  sun,  and 
round  these  flowers  were  swarms  of  bees  and  butterflies. 
The  bees  hummed,  the  children  chattered,  the  birds  sang, 
and  at  a  little  distance  were  two  doves  billing. 

After  having  admired  till  night-fall  this  charming  lit- 
tle garden,  I  took  a  fancy  to  visit  the  ruin  of  the  old 
church,  which  is  dedicated  to  Saint  Werner,  who  suffered 
martyrdom  at  Oberwesel.  I  reached  the  first  flight  of 
steps,  which  were  covered  with  grass,  looked  round,  ad- 
mired the  heavens,  from  which  sufficient  light  came  to 
enable  me  to  see  the  old  palatine  castle  in  ruins ;  then 
my  eyes  fell  upon  my  charming  garden  of  children,  birds, 
doves,  bees,  butterflies,  and  music,  —  my  garden  of  life, 
of  love,  and  of  joy,  —  and  I  discovered  that  it  was  a 
cemetery. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  FIEE  !    FIRE  !  " 

Lorch.  —  An    Incident.  —  Combat    of    the    Hydra  and   Dragon.  — 
The  Hotel  P at  Lorch. 

A"!  7HEN  twelve  strikes  at  Bacharach  we  go  to  bed, 
^  ^  we  shut  our  eyes,  we  try  to  dispel  the 
thoughts  of  day  ;  we  come  to  that  state  when  we  have, 
at  the  same  time,  something  awake,  and  something 
asleep,  —  when  the  fatigued  body  reposes,  and  when  the 
wayward  mind  is  still  at  labour.  When  thus,  between 
the  mind  and  body  we  are  neither  asleep  nor  awake,  a 
noise  suddenly  disturbs  the  shades  of  night,  —  an  inex- 
pressible, a  singular  noise  ;  a  kind  of  faint  murmuring, 
at  once  menacing  and  plaintive,  which  mingles  with 
the  night  wind,  and  seems  to  come  from  the  high 
cemetery  situated  above  the  village.  You  awake,  jump 
up,  and  listen.  What  is  that  ?  It  is  the  watchman 
blowing  his  trumpet  to  assure  the  inhabitants  that  all  is 
well,  and  that  they  may  sleep  without  fear.  Be  it  so ; 
still,  I  think  it  impossible  to  adopt  a  more  frightful 
method. 

At  Lorch  a  person  might  be  awakened  out  of  his  sleep 
in  a  manner  still  more  dramatical ;  but,  my  friend,  let  me 
first  tell  you  what  sort  of  a  place  Lorch  is. 


180  THE   RHINE. 

Lorch,  a  large  borough,  containing  about  eighteen 
hundred  inhabitants,  is  situated  upon  the  right  bank  of 
the  Rhine,  and  extends  as  far  as  the  mouth  of  the 
Wisper.  It  is  the  valley  of  legends ;  it  is  the  country 
of  fairies.  Lorch  is  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  Devil's 
Ladder,  —  a  high  rock,  almost  perpendicular,  v^hich  the 
valiant  Gilgen  clambered  when  in  search  of  his  betrothed, 
who  was  hidden  by  the  gnomes  on  the  summit  of  a 
mountain.  It  was  at  Lorch  that  the  fairy  Ave  invented 
—  so  say  the  legends  —  the  art  of  weaving,  in  order  to 
clothe  her  lover  Heppius.  The  first  red  wine  of  the 
Ehine  was  made  here.  Lorch  existed  before  Charle- 
magne, and  it  has  left  a  date  in  its  charter  as  far  back  as 
732.  Henry  III.,  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  resided  here 
in  1348.  At  present  there  are  neither  Roman  cavaliers 
nor  fairies  nor  archbishops  ;  yet  the  little  town  is  happy, 
the  scenery  is  delightful,  and  the  inhabitants  are  hospit- 
able. The  lovely  house  of  the  Renaissance,  on  the 
border  of  the  Rhine,  has  a  faqade  as  original  and  as  rich 
in  its  kind  as  that  of  the  French  manor  of  Meillan. 
The  fortress,  teeming  with  legends  of  old  Sibo,  protects, 
as  it  were,  the  borough  from  the  historical  castle  of 
Turstenberg,  which  menaces  it  with  its  huge  tower. 
There  is  nothing  more  charming  than  to  see  this  smiling 
little  colony  of  peasants  prospering  beneath  those  two 
frightful  skeletons  which  were  once  citadels. 

A  week  ago,  perhaps  it  was  about  one  in  the  morning, 
I  was  writing  in  my  room,  when  suddenly  I  perceived 
the  paper  under  my  pen  become  red,  and  on  lifting  my 
eyes  I  discovered  that  the  light  did  not  proceed  from  my 


LORCH.  181 

lamp,  but  from  my  window,  while  a  strange  humming 
noise  rose  around  me.  I  hastened  to  ascertain  the  cause. 
An  immense  volume  of  flame  and  smoke  was  issuing 
from  the  roof  above  my  head,  making  a  frightful  noise. 

It  was  the  hotel  P ,  the  house  adjoining  mine,  which 

had  taken  fire. 

In  an  instant  the  inmates  of  the  aiiberge  were  awake, 
all  the  village  was  astir,  and  the  cry  of  "  Fire !  fire ! " 
was  heard  in  every  street.  I  shut  my  window,  and 
opened  the  door.  The  large  wooden  staircase  of  my 
hotel,  which  had  two  windows,  almost  touched  the  burn- 
ing house,  and  seemed  also  to  be  in  flames.  From  the 
top  to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs,  a  crowd  of  shadows, 
loaded  with  divers  things,  was  seen  pressing,  jostling,  and 
making  way,  with  all  possible  speed,  either  to  the  top  or 
to  the  bottom.  It  was  the  inmates  of  the  auberge 
removing  their  effects,  —  one  nearly  naked,  this  one  in 
drawers,  that  one  in  his  shirt ;  they  seemed  scarcely 
awake.  No  one  cried  out ;  no  one  spoke.  It  was  like 
the  humming  of  an  ant-hillock. 

As  for  me,  —  for  each  thinks  of  himself  at  such  a 
time,  —  I  had  little  luggage.  I  lodged  on  the  first  floor, 
therefore  ran  no  other  risk  than  that  of  being  forced  to 
make  my  escape  by  the  window. 

In  the  mean  while,  a  storm  arose,  and  the  rain  came 
down  in  torrents.  As  always  happens,  the  more  haste 
the  less  speed.  A  moment  of  frightful  confusion  ensued  ; 
some  wished  to  enter,  others  to  go  out ;  drawers  and 
tables  attached  to  ropes  were  lowered  from  the  windows ; 
and  mattresses,  nightcaps,  and   bundles    of  linen  were 


182  THE   RHINE. 

thrown  from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  pavement. 
Women  were  wringing  their  hands  in  despair,  and 
children  crying.  Just  as  the  fire  gained  the  granary,  the 
fire-engines  arrived.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  rage  with  which  the  water  attacked  its  enemy. 
No  sooner  had  the  pipes  passed  over  the  wall  than  a 
hissing  sound  was  heard ;  and  the  flames,  on  which  a 
stream  of  molten  steel  seemed  pouring,  roared,  became 
erect,  leaped  frightfully,  opened  horrible  mouths,  and 
with  its  innumerable  tongues  licked  at  once  all  the  doors 
and  windows  of  the  burning  edifice.  The  vapour  mingled 
with  the  smoke,  volumes  of  which  were  dispersed  with 
every  breath  of  wind,  and  lost  themselves,  twisting  and 
wreathing  in  the  darkness  of  the  night,  whilst  the  hiss- 
ing of  the  water  responded  to  the  roaring  of  the  fire. 
There  is  nothing  more  terrible  and  more  grand  than  the 
awful  combat  of  the  hydra  and  dragon. 

The  strength  of  the  water  forced  up  in  columns  by  the 
engines  was  extraordinary  ;  the  slates  and  bricks  on  which 
it  alighted,  broke,  and  were  scattered  by  its  force.  When 
the  timber-works  gave  way  the  sight  was  grand.  Amidst 
noise  and  smoke,  myriads  of  sparks  issued  from  the 
flames.  For  a  few  minutes  a  chimney-stack  stood  alone 
upon  the  house,  like  a  kind  of  stone  tower  ;  but  no  sooner 
was  the  pipe  pointed  towards  it  than  it  fell  heavily  into 
the  gulf.  The  Ehine,  the  villages,  the  mountains,  the 
ruins  —  all  the  spectres  of  the  country  —  were  observable 
amidst  the  smoke  and  flames  and  storm.  It  was  truly  a 
frightful  sight,  yet  it  had  something  of  sublimity  in  it. 

If  looked  at  in  detail,  nothing  was  more  singular  than  to 


LORCH.  183 

see  at  intervals,  amongst  smoke  and  flame,  heads  of  men 
appearing  everywhere.  These  men  were  directing  the 
water-pipes  on  the  flames,  which  jumped,  advanced,  and 
receded.  Large  blocks  of  woodwork  were  detached  from 
the  roof,  and  hung  dangling  by  a  nail,  while  others  fell 
amidst  noise  and  sparks.  In  the  interior  of  the  apart- 
ments the  decorated  paper  of  the  walls  appeared  and 
disappeared  with  every  blast  of  the  wind.  There  was 
upon  the  wall  of  the  third  floor  a  picture  of  Louis  XV., 
surrounded  by  shepherds  and  shepherdesses.  I  watched 
this  landscape  with  particular  interest.  For  some  time  it 
withstood  the  fire ;  but  at  last  one  body  of  flame  entered 
the  room,  stretched  forth  one  of  its  tongues,  and  seized 
the  landscape  ;  —  the  females  embraced  the  males,  Tircis 
cajoled  Glyc^re,  then  all  disappeared  in  smoke. 

A  short  distance  from  the  auberge  was  a  group  of  half- 
naked  English,  with  pale  countenances,  and  looks  ex- 
pressive of  bewilderment.  They  were  standing  by  the 
goods  which  had  been  providentially  saved.  On  their 
left  was  an  assemblage  of  all  the  children  of  the  place, 
who  laughed  on  seeing  a  block  of  wood  precipitated  into 
the  burning  element,  and  clapped  their  hands  every  time 
the  water-works  happened  to  play  amongst  them.  Such 
was  the  fire  of  the  Hotel  P ,  at  Lorch. 

A  house  on  fire  is  at  best  a  house  burning ;  but,  what 
is  still  more  melancholy,  a  man  lost  his  life  at  it,  while 
in  the  act  of  doing  good  to  others. 

About  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  people  became 
what  is  generally  termed  masters  of  the  fire,  and  succeeded 
in  confining  the  flames  to  the  Hotel  P ,  thus  saving 


184  THE   RHINE. 

ours.  A  host  of  servants,  brushing,  scraping,  rubbing,  and 
sponging,  attacked  the  rooms,  and  in  less  than  an  hour 
our  inn  was  washed  from  top  to  bottom.  One  thing  is 
remarkable,  —  nothing  was  stolen  !  All  the  goods,  removed 
in  haste  amidst  the  rain,  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  were 
scrupulously  carried  back  by  the  poor  peasants  of  Lorch. 

Next  morning  I  was  surprised  to  see,  on  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  inn  that  was  burned,  two  or  three  rooms  per- 
fectly entire,  which  did  not  seem  to  be  the  least  disordered 
by  the  fire  that  had  raged  above  them.  Apropos  of  this 
fact,  the  following  story  passes  current  in  this  country. 

A  few  years  ago  an  Englishman  arrived  somewhat  late 
at  an  inn  at  Braubach,  supped,  and  went  to  bed.  In  the 
middle  of  the  night  the  auherge  took  fire.  The  servants 
entered  the  apartment  of  the  Englishman,  and  finding 
him  asleep,  awoke  him,  told  him  what  had  happened,  and 
that  he  must  make  all  speed  out  of  the  house. 

"  To  the  devil  with  you  !  "  said  the  Englishman,  not  at 
all  pleased  with  his  noctural  visitants.  "  You  awake  me 
for  that !  Leave  me  alone ;  I  am  fatigued,  and  will  not 
get  up !  You  seem  to  be  a  parcel  of  fools,  to  imagine  that 
I  am  going  to  run  through  the  fields  in  my  shirt  at  such 
an  hour  as  this !  Nine  hours  is  the  amount  of  time  that 
I  allow  for  rest.  Put  out  the  fire  the  best  way  you  can  ! 
As  for  me,  I  am  very  well  in  bed,  where  I  intend  to 
remain.     Good-night !     I  will  see  you  to-morrow." 

No  sooner  had  he  said  so  than  he  turned  his  back  upon 
the  servants,  and  fell  fast  asleep.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
The  fire  gained  ground ;  and  the  inmates,  to  save  them- 
selves, fled,  after  shutting  the  door  upon  the  Englishman, 


LORCH.  185 

who  was  soundly  sleeping,  and  snoring  tremendously. 
The  fire  was  terrible,  but  at  last  was,  with  great  difficulty, 
extinguished.  Next  morning,  the  men  who  were  clearing 
the  rubbish  came  to  the  chamber  of  the  Englishman, 
opened  the  door,  and  found  him  in  bed.  On  perceiving 
them  he  said,  yawning,  — 

"  Can  you  tell  me  if  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  boot-hook 
in  this  house  ?  " 

He  rose,  breakfasted  heartily,  and  appeared  quite 
refreshed,  —  a  circumstance  greatly  to  the  displeasure  of 
the  lads  of  the  place,  who  had  made  up  their  minds  to 
make  what  is  called  in  the  valley  of  the  Ehine  a  bourg- 
mestre  sec  with  the  Englishman  ;  that  is,  a  smoked  corpse, 
which  they  show  to  strangers  for  a  few  liards. 


CHAPTEK  XX. 

FROM    LORCH    TO   BINGEN. 

Travelling  on  Foot;  its  Advantages  and  Pleasures. — The  Strange  Ren- 
contre. —  A  Dangerous  Spectator.  —  The  Explication.  —  Actors  on  a 
Holiday. — Marvellous  Facts,  and  their  Connection  with  the  "Holi- 
day of  a  Menagerie."  —  A  Reminiscence.  —  Furstenberg  Castle.  — 
The  Three  Brothers,  Cadeuet,  Luynes,  and  Brandes.  —  The  Three 
Students.  —  Sublimity  of  Nature.  —  Ruin.  —  The  Enigma.  —  Falken- 
burg  Castle.  —  The  Blooming  Group.  —  Stella.  —  Guntram  and  Liba.  — 
Mausethurm.  —  Hatto  and  the  Legend  of  the  Rats. 


L 


OECH  is  about  four  French  leagues  from  Bingen. 
You  are  well  aware  of  my  taste.  Whenever  an 
opportunity  is  offered,  I  never  neglect  converting  my 
excursion  into  a  j)romenade. 

Nothing  to  me  is  more  pleasing  than  travelling  on  foot. 
We  are  free  and  joyous.  No  breaking  down  of  wheels, 
no  contingencies  attendant  on  carriages.  We  set  out, 
stop  when  it  suits  us ;  breakfast  at  a  farm  or  under  a 
tree;  walk  on,  and  dream  while  walking,  —  for  travelling 
cradles  reverie,  reverie  veils  fatigue,  and  the  beauty  of 
the  country  hides  the  length  of  the  road.  We  are  not 
travelling,  —  we  wander.  Then  we  stop  under  the  shade 
of  a  tree,  by  the  side  of  a  little  rivulet,  whose  rippling 
waters  harmonize  with  the  songs  of  the  birds  that  load 
the  branches  over  our  heads.     I  saw  with  compassion  a 


A  DANGEROUS  SPECTATOR.  187 

diligence  pass  before  me,  enveloped  in  dust,  and  contain- 
ing tired,  screwed-up,  and  fatigued  passengers.  Strange 
that  those  poor  creatures,  who  are  often  persons  of  mind, 
should  willingly  consent  to  be  shut  up  in  a  place  where 
the  harmony  of  the  country  sounds  only  in  noise,  the 
sun  appears  to  them  in  clouds,  and  the  roads  in  whirl- 
winds of  dust.  They  are  not  aware  of  the  flowers  that 
are  found  in,  thickets,  of  the  pearls  that  are  picked  up 
amongst  pebbles,  of  the  houris  that  the  fertile  imagina- 
tion discovers  in  landscapes  !  —  musa  pedestris.  Every- 
thing comes  to  the  foot-passenger.  Adventures  are  ever 
passing  before  his  eyes. 

I  remember  being,  some  seven  or  eight  years  ago,  at 
Claye,  which  is  a  few  leagues  from  Paris.  I  will  tran- 
scribe the  lines  which  I  found  in  my  note-book,  for  they 
are  connected  with  the  story  that  I  am  going  to  relate. 

"  A  canal  for  a  ground-floor,  a  cemetery  for  a  first,  and 
a  few  houses  for  a  second,  —  such  is  Claye.  The  ceme- 
tery forms  a  terrace  over  the  canal ;  thus  affording  the 
manes  of  the  peasants  of  Claye  a  probable  chance  of  be- 
ing serenaded  by  the  mail-packet  which  runs  from  Paris 
to  Meaux." 

I  was  returning  to  Paris  on  foot,  and  had  set  out  early. 
The  trees  of  the  forest  of  Bondy  tempted  me  to  go  by  a 
road  which  had  a  sharp  turning,  where  I  seated  myself, 

—  my  back  against  an  oak,  my  feet  hanging  over  a  ditch, 

—  and  began  to  write  in  my  note-book  the  note  which 
you  have  just  read.  As  I  was  finishing  the  fourth  line 
I  lifted  my  eyes,  and  perceived  not  many  yards  from 
where  I  was  a  bear,  with  its  eye  fixed  upon  me.      In 


188  THE   RHINE. 

broad  daylight  we  have  no  nightmares,  nor  can  we  be 
dupes  enough  to  take  the  stump  of  a  tree  for  something 
supernatural.  At  night,  things  may  change  in  appear- 
ance ;  but  at  noon,  with  a  May  sun  over  our  heads,  we 
have  no  such  hallucinations.  It  was  actually  a  bear  —  a 
living  bear,  a  hideous-looking  animal  —  which  was  seated 
on  its  hind  legs,  with  its  fore  paws  crossed  over  its  belly. 
One  of  its  ears  was  torn,  as  also  was  its  under-lip ;  it  had 
only  one  eye,  with  which  it  looked  at  me  attentively. 
There  was  no  woodman  at  hand,  —  all  around  me  was 
silent  and  deserted.  I  must  say  that  I  felt  a  strange 
sensation.  Sometimes,  when  chance  brings  us  into  con- 
tact with  a  strange  dog,  we  manage  to  get  over  the  diffi- 
culty by  shouting  out  "Fox,"  "Solomon,"  or  "Asor;" 
but  what  could  we  say  to  a  bear  ?  Where  did  it  come 
from  ?  Why  such  a  creature  in  the  forest  of  Bondy, 
upon  the  highway  from  Paris  to  Claye  ?  It  was  strange, 
unreasonable,  and  anything  but  pleasing.  I  moved  not ; 
I  must  also  say  that  the  bear  did  not  move,  —  a  cir- 
cumstance which  appeared  to  me  somewhat  lucky.  It 
looked  at  me  as  tenderly  as  a  bear  could  well  do  with 
one  eye ;  it  opened  its  mouth,  not  in  ferocity,  but  yawn- 
ingly.  This  bear  had  something  of  peace,  of  resignation, 
and  of  drowsiness ;  and  I  found  a  likeness  in  its  physi- 
ognomy to  those  old  stagers  that  listen  to  tragedies.  In 
fact,  its  countenance  pleased  me  so  much  that  I  resolved 
to  put  as  good  a  face  upon  the  matter  as  I  could.  I  there- 
fore accepted  it  for  a  spectator,  and  continued  what  I  had 
begun.  I  then  wrote  the  fifth  line  in  my  book,  —  which 
line  is  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  fourth,  for  on 


AN  ADVENTURE.  189 

beginning  it  I  had  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  eye  of  the 
bear. 

Whilst  I  was  writing  a  large  fly  lighted  on  the  bleed- 
ing ear  of  my  spectator.  It  slowly  lifted  its  right  paw, 
and  passed  it  leisurely  over  its  ear,  as  a  cat  might  do. 
The  fly  took  to  its  wings ;  the  bear  looked  after  it,  then 
he  seized  his  hind  legs  with  his  fore  paws,  and,  as  if 
satisfied  with  that  classic  attitude,  began  again  to  watch 
me.  I  admit  that  I  observed  his  movements  with  no 
slight  degree  of  interest. 

Just  as  I  was  about  to  begin  the  sixth  line,  I  heard  a 
sound  of  feet  on  the  high  road  ;  and  suddenly  I  perceived 
another  bear,  —  a  huge,  black  animal,  —  which  had  no 
sooner  fixed  its  eyes  upon  the  former  than  it  ran  up  to  it 
and  rolled  graciously  at  its  feet.  The  first  was  a  she-bear, 
and  did  not  deign  to  look  upon  the  black  one  ;  and  fortu- 
nately the  latter  paid  no  attention  to  me, 

I  confess  that  at  this  new  apparition,  which  was  some- 
what perplexing,  my  hand  trembled.  I  was  then  writing, 
"  Claye  a  probable  chance  of  being  serenaded."  In  my 
manuscript  I  see  there  is  a  great  space  between  the 
words  "  probable  chance"  and  "  of  being  serenaded." 
That  space  signifies,  "  a  second  bear ! " 

Two  bears  !  What  did  all  this  mean  ?  Judging  from 
the  direction  the  black  one  came,  it  was  natural  to 
imagine  that  it  was  from  Paris,  —  a  city  little  abounding 
with  hetes,  at  least  of  such  savage  natures. 

I  remained  petrified,  bewildered,  with  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  hideous  animals,  which  began  to  roll 
lovingly  in  the  dust.     I  rose,  and  was  making  up  my 


190  THE   RHINE. 

mind  whether  I  should  pick  up  my  cane,  which  had 
fallen  into  the  ditch,  when  another  appeared,  less  in  size, 
more  deformed,  and  bleeding  like  the  first ;  then  came  a 
fourth,  a  fifth,  and  a  sixth.  The  last  four  walked  along 
the  road  like  soldiers  on  the  march.  This  was  truly 
inexplicable.  A  moment  afterwards  I  heard  the  shout- 
ing of  men,  mingling  with  the  barking  of  dogs  ;  then  I 
beheld  ten  or  twelve  bull-dogs  and  seven  or  eight  men, 
the  latter  armed  with  large  sticks  tipped  with  iron,  and 
carrying  muzzles  in  their  hands.  One  of  them  stopped, 
and  whilst  the  others  collected  and  muzzled  the  animals, 
he  explained  to  me  this  strange  enigma.  The  master  of 
the  Circus  of  the  Barrifere  du  Combat,  profiting  by  the 
Easter  devotions,  was  sending  his  bears  and  dogs  to 
Meaux,  where  he  intended  giving  a  few  exhibitions.  All 
these  animals  travelled  on  foot,  and  had  been  unmuzzled 
at  the  last  stage,  to  afford  them  an  opportunity  of  eating 
by  the  roadside.  Whilst  the  keepers  were  comfortably 
seated  in  a  neighbouring  cabaret,  the  bears,  finding  them- 
selves alone,  joyous  of  liberty,  stole  a  march  upon  their 
masters. 

Such  was  one  of  the  adventures,  of  my  pedestrian 
excursions,  —  the  rencontre  of  "  actors  "  on  a  half-holiday. 

Dante,  in  the  beginning  of  his  poem,  states  that  he 
met  one  day  a  panther  in  a  wood  ;  after  which,  a  lion  ; 
then  a  bear.  If  we  give  credit  to  tradition,  the  Seven 
Wise  Men  of  Greece  had  similiar  adventures.  Thales 
of  Milet  was  for  a  long  time  followed  by  a  griffon ; 
Bias  de  Priene  walked  side  by  side  with  a  lynx ;  Solon 
of  Athens    bravely  confronted  a  mad   bull ;    Cleobulus 


A  REMINISCENCE.  191 

of  Rhodes  met  a  lion  and  Cliilo  of  Macedonia  a  lioness. 
All  these  marvellous  facts,  if  properly  examined,  might 
be  found  to  have  some  connection  with  the  "  holiday  " 
of  a  menagerie.  If  I  had  related  my  story  of  the  bears 
in  a  manner  more  redounding  to  my  valour,  perhaps  in  a 
few  hundred  years  I  should  have  passed  for  a  second 
Orpheus.  "  Dictus  ob  hoc  lenire  tigres."  You  perceive, 
my  friend,  that  poor  "  acting  "  bears  give  rise  to  many 
prodigies.  Without  offence  to  the  ancient  poets  or  Greek 
philosophers,  I  must  confess  that  to  me  a  strophe  would 
be  but  a  feeble  weapon  against  a  leopard,  or  the  power  of 
a  syllogism  against  a  hyena.  Man  has  found  the  secret 
of  degrading  the  lion  and  the  tiger,  —  of  adding  stupidity 
to  ferocity.  Perhaps  it  is  well ;  for  had  it  not  been  so 
I  should  have  been  devoured,  and  the  Seven  Wise  Men 
of  Greece  would  have  shared  the  same  fate. 

Since  I  am  in  the  way  of  reminiscences,  you  will  not 
object  to  another  little  story. 

You  know  G ,  the  old  poet-savant,  who  is  a  proof 

that  a  poet  can  be  patient,  a  savant  charming,  and  a 
greybeard  young.  He  walks  as  if  he  were  only  twenty. 
In  183-  we  were  having  some  excursion  together  into 
the  Gatinais.  We  were  plodding  along  side  by  side  on  a 
cool  morning  with  an  unclouded  sun  above  us.  As  truth 
charms  and  paradox  amuses  me,  I  know  no  more  delight- 
ful companion  than  G .     He  is  acquainted  with  all 

truths  that  can  be  verified  and  invents  all  paradoxes 
that  are  possible. 

I  remember  that  his  fancy  of  the  moment  was  to  argue 
that  the  basilisk  exists.     "  Pliny  mentions  and  describes 


192  THE   RHINE. 

it,"  he  said  to  me.  "  The  birthplace  of  the  basilisk  is  the 
country  around  Cyrene  in  Africa.  It  is  twelve  fingers  in 
length.  It  has  on  its  head  a  white  spot  wliich  serves  it 
as  a  diadem  ;  and  when  it  hisses,  serpents  fly  away  from 
it.  The  Bible  tells  us  it  has  wings.  A  fact  that  has 
been  proved  is  that  in  the  time  of  Saint  Leo  there  was  at 
Eome,  in  the  church  of  Saint  Luke,  a  basilisk  whose  breath 
poisoned  the  entire  city.  The  holy  pontiff  ventured  to 
approach  the  damp  and  gloomy  vault  under  which  the 
monster  lived,  and,  says  Scaliger  in  his  lofty  style,  '  he 
extinguished  him  by  his  prayers.' " 

G added,  when  he  saw    that  I  was  incredulous 

about  the  basilisk,  that  certain  places  have  a  peculiar 
effect  on  certain  animals.  At  Seriphos  in  the  Archi- 
pelago, frogs  do  not  croak  ;  at  Eeggio  in  Calabria,  the 
cigale  does  not  sing ;  boars  are  dumb  in  Macedonia  ;  the 
serpents  of  the  Euphrates  do  not  bite  the  natives,  even 
when  the  latter  are  asleep,  but  only  foreigners ;  whilst 
the  scorpions  of  Mount  Latmos  are  innocuous  in  the  case 
of  foreigners,  but  are  fatal  to  the  people  of  the  country. 
He  put  a  crowd  of  questions  to  me,  or  rather  to  himself, 
and  I  let  him.  Why  is  there  such  a  multitude  of  rabbits 
in  Majorca  and  not  a  single  one  in  Iviqa  ?  Why  do 
hares  die  on  touching  Ithaca  ?  Why  is  it  that  you  cannot 
find  a  wolf  on  Mount  Olympus,  nor  a  screech-owl  in  the 
Isle  of  Crete,  nor  an  eagle  in  the  Isle  of  Ehodes  ? 

Seeing  me  smile,  he  interrupted,  "  Softly,  my  good 
fellow ;  these  are  the  opinions  of  Aristotle."  To  which 
I  contented  myself  with  replying,  "  My  friend,  this 
sort  of  thing  is  dead  science ;  and  dead  science  is  not 


A  REMINISCENCE.  193 

science,  it  is  erudition."     And  G answered  with  his 

grave  and  enthusiastic  look ,  "  You  are  right.  Art  alone 
is  immortal.  One  great  scholar  consigns  another  great 
scholar  to  oblivion  ;  but  the  great  poets  of  the  present 
and  the  future  can  only  equal  the  great  poets  of  the 
past.  Aristotle  is  outstripped.  Homer  never."  And 
when  he  finished,  he  became  thoughtful,  picking  up  a 
flower  from  the  grass  or  a  rhyme  from  the  clouds. 

In  this  way  we  arrived  near  Milly,  at  the  remains  of  a 
ruin  in  a  plain  that  was  famous  for  a  witch  trial  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  occasion  of  it  was  this.  A 
horned  wolf  was  ravaging  the  country.  Certain  gentle- 
men of  the  royal  hunt  tracked  it  with  the  help  of  a 
great  reinforcement  of  varlets  and  peasants.  The  wolf 
reached  this  ruin  and  was  lost  in  it.  The  hunters  sur- 
rounded the  spot,  and  then  entered.  They  found  a 
hideous  old  woman,  and  at  her  feet  a  wolf's  skin  which 
Satan  had  not  had  time  to  carry  off.  It  goes  without 
saying  that  the  ancient  lady  was  burned  on  a  pile  of 
green  fagots ;  the  execution  took  place  in  front  of  the 
fine  portal  of  the  cathedral  of  Sens. 

I  wonder  how  it  is  that  men  should  always  commit 
their  grossest  follies  before  these  calm  and  serene  marvels 
of  the  human   intellect. 

This  occurred  in  1636,  the  year  when  Corneille  pro- 
duced his  "  Cid." 

While   I   was    recounting    this    incident    to    G , 

"Listen,"  he  said.  We  listened,  and  heard  from  a  little 
group  of  houses  hidden  among  trees  on  our  left  the 
trumpet  of  some  mountebank  or  other. 

VOL.    XXVII.  —  13 


194  THE   RHINE. 

G has  always  taken  delight  in  this  grotesque  and 

triumphal  music.  "  The  world,"  he  said  to  me  one  day, 
"  is  full  of  imposing  sounds  of  which  this  is  the  parody. 
While  legists  declaim  on  the  political  stage  and  rhetori- 
cians perorate  on  the  scholastic  stage,  I  go  into  the 
meadows  and  catalogue  insects  and  classify  blades  of 
grass  and  adore  the  greatness  of  God,  and  I  am  always 
delighted  to  suddenly  come  across  this  noisy  emblem  of 
the  littleness  of  men,  this  charlatan  puffing  over  his  big 
drum,  this  Bobino,  this  Bobfeche,  this  irony.  The 
mountebank  mingles  in  all  my  studies  and  completes 
them ;  and  I  fix  that  human  insect  on  a  card  with  a  pin, 
just  as  I  would  a  scarabeeus  or  a  butterfly  and  classify  it 
among  the  others." 

G drew  me  towards  the  group  of  houses  where 

the  noise  came  from,  —  a  mean  hamlet,  called,  I  think, 
Petit-Sou,  and  reminding  me  of  that  town  of  Asculum, 
on  the  road  from  Trvicum  to  Brindisium,  which  pre- 
sented a  difficulty  to  Horace. 

"  Quod  versu  dicere  non  est, 
Signis  perfacile  est." 

Asculum,  indeed,  cannot  enter  into  an  Alexandrine  ^ 
verse. 

It  was  the  feast  of  the  patron  saint  of  the  village. 
Square  and  church  and  mayoralty  were  in  their  holiday 
clothes.  The  sky  itself,  coquettishly  decorated  with  a 
number  of  pretty  white  and  roseate  clouds,  had  about  it 

^  So  says  Victor  Hugo;  it  proves,  like  his  remarks  on  massS  in  the 
so-called  hexameters  and  pentameters  of  the  epitaph,  that  he  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing  about  the  construction  of  Latin  verse.  —  Tr. 


A  REMINISCENCE.  195 

something  rustic,  joyous,  and  Sunday-like.  Groups  of 
young  girls  and  children  occupied  one  corner  of  the 
square,  which  was  carpeted  with  turf ;  at  the  end  of  the 
square,  paved  with  sharp  pebbles,  the  crowd  surrounded 
a  kind  of  stage  composed  of  two  planks  and  a  ladder  and 
having  a  tent  behind  it.  This  tent  was  covered  with 
the  blue  and  white  check  awning  that  reminds  you  of 
the  quilt  of  some  trundle-bed,  and  becomes  at  need, 
under  the  name  of  paillasses,  the  classical  costume  of 
the  clown's  assistant.  The  door,  —  a  simple  slit  in  the 
canvas,  —  opened  on  one  side  of  the  tent,  and  above 
this  door,  on  a  white  sheet  adorned  with  this  word  in 
capitals,  — 

MICROSCOPE,  — 

more  frightful  animals,  more  monstrous  chimeras,  more 
impossible  beings  than  Saint  Antony  ever  saw  or  Callot 
dreamed  of  were  roughly  outlined  in  a  thousand  fantastic 
attitudes. 

Two  men  were  on  the  stage ;  one,  as  filthy  as  Job, 
as  bronzed  as  Ptha,  with  a  headdress  like  Osiris,  groan- 
ing like  Memnon,  had  about  him  something  Oriental, 
fabulous,  stupid,  and  Egyptian,  and  beat  a  big  drum, 
now  and  then  blowing  a  flute.  The  other  looked  on 
while  he  did  so.  He  was  a  kind  of  Sbrigani,  shaggy, 
hairy,  and  fierce-looking,  and  clad  like  a  Hungarian  of 
the  melodrama. 

Around  tent  and  stage  were  several  bewildered  peas- 
ants, male  and  female,  evidently  frightened  to  death; 
their  foolish  mouths  and  stupid  eyes  were  wide  open. 
Behind  the  platform  some  children  were  slyly  making 


196  THE   RHINE. 

holes  in  the  white  and  Llue  canvas,  which  made  a  feeble 
resistance  and  let  them  see  the  interior. 

Just  as  we  arrived,  the  Egyptian  finished  his  flourish 
and  Sbrigani  began  to  speak.  G listened  atten- 
tively. 

Except  the  customary  invitation,  "  Walk  in,  walk  in, 
and  vou  shall  see,"  etc.  I  declare  that  what  the  rascal 
said  was  perfectly  unintelligible  to  me,  to  the  peasants, 
and  even  to  the  Egyptian,  who  had  assumed  the  posture 
of  a  bas-relief  and  paid  the  same  dignified  attention  as 
he  might  have  done  if  present  at  the  dedication  of  the 
great  columns  of  the  hall  of  Karnac  by  Menephta  I., 
father  of  Eameses  II. 

However,  at  the  first  words  of  the  charlatan,  G 

started.  At  the  end  of  some  minutes  he  leaned  towards 
me  and  said  in  a  whisper,  "You  who  are  young  and 
have  good  eyes  and  a  pencil,  do  me  the  favour  of  writing 
what  this  man  says."  I  was  about  to  ask  him  the 
meaning  of  his  strange  request,  but  he  was  too  deeply 
absorbed  in  the  business  on  the  stage  to  hear  me.     I 

decided  then  to  satisfy  G ;  and  as  the  mountebank 

spoke  with  solemn  slowness,  I  was  able  to  write  every 
word  of  the  discourse. 

"  The  family  of  the  scyres  is  divided  into  two  species  ; 
the  first  has  no  eyes,  the  second  has  six,  being  therein  dis- 
tinguished from  the  cunaxa,  which  has  two,  and  the  hdella, 
which  has  four." 

Here  G ,  who  was  listening  with  an  interest  more 

and  more  intense,  took  off  his  hat,  and  addressing  the 
mountebank   in  his  most   gracious    and   gentlest   tones, 


A  REMINISCENCE.  197 

said,   "Pardon   me,  sir;    but  you   say   nothing    of   the 
group  of  the  gamases." 

"  Who  is  speaking  there  ? "  said  the  man,  casting  a 
glance  round  the  audience,  but  without  surprise  or  hesi- 
tation. "  Oh,  that  old  man  ?  Well,  my  venerable  friend, 
in  the  group  of  the  gamases  I  have  found  only  one 
species,  —  a  dermanyssus,  the  parasite  of  the  whistling 
bat." 

"  I  was  under  the  impression,"  returned  G ,  timidly, 

"  that  that  was  a  glyciphagus  cursor^ 

"  A  mistake,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  the  Sbrigani. 
"  There  is  an  abyss  between  the  glyciphagus  and  the 
dermanyssus.  Since  you  busy  yourself  with  these  great 
questions,  study  Nature,  consult  Degeer,  Hering,  and 
Hermann.  Observe  the  sarcoptes  ovis,  which  has  at 
least  two  pair  of  posterior  feet  complete  and  caruncu- 
lated ;  the  sarcoptes  rupicaprae,  whose  posterior  feet  are 
rudimentary  and  segiterous  and  devoid  of  vesicles  ;  the 
sarcoptes  hippopodos,  which  is  perhaps  a  glyciphagus  — " 

"  Are  you  not  sure  ? "  interrupted  G ,  reverently. 

"  I  am  not  sure,"  replied  the  mountebank,  majestically. 
"  Yes,  I  owe  it  to  sacred  Truth  to  confess  that  I  am  not 
sure.  But  what  I  am  sure  of  is  that  I  have  picked  a 
glyciphagus  out  of  the  plume  of  a  grand  duke.  And 
what  I  am  sure  of  is  that  I  have  discovered,  while  visit- 
ing various  colleges  of  comparative  anatomy,  glyciphagi 
in  the  cavities  between  the  cartilages  and  under  the 
epiphises  of  the  skeletons." 

"  That  is  prodigious,  indeed  ! "  murmured  G . 

"  But,"  he  continued,  "  this  would  carry  me  too  far.     I 


198  THE   RHINE. 

shall  speak  to  you  some  other  time,  gentlemen,  of  the 
glyciphagus  and  the  psorojptes.  The  extraordinary  and 
formidable  animal  I  will  show  you  to-day  is  the  sar- 
coptes.  A  frightful  and  marvellous  fact,  gentlemen.  The 
acariate  of  the  camel,  which  resembles  not  that  of  the 
horse,  resembles  that  of  man  !  Hence  a  possible  confu- 
sion, the  consequences  of  which  might  be  appalling.  Let 
us  study  them,  gentlemen ;  let  us  study  these  monsters. 
The  form  of  both  is  very  nearly  the  same ;  but  the  sar- 
coptes  of  the  dromedary  is  more  elongated  than  the 
sarcoptes  of  man  ;  the  intermediary  part  of  the  posterior 
bristles,  instead  of  being  smaller,  is  larger !  The  ventral 
facies  has  also  its  peculiarities.  The  ring  is  more  dis- 
tinctly separated  in  the  sarcoptes  hominis,  and  it  sends  an 
aciculiform  point  from  the  lower  part,  which  does  not 
exist  in  the  sarcoptes  dromedarii.  The  latter  is  bigger 
than  the  former  ;  there  is  also  an  enormous  difference  in 
the  spines  of  the  posterior  feet ;  in  the  former  they  are 
simple,  unequally  bifid  in  the  latter  — " 

Here  I  grew  tired  taking  down  all  these  abstruse  and 
imposing  subjects  ;    I  could  not  help  jerking  the  elbow  of 

G ,  and  whispering  to  him,  "  What  the  deuce  is  the 

fellow  talking  about  ? " 

G turned  round  slowly   and   said   reproachfully, 

"About  the  itch." 

I  burst  into  a  fit  of  such  violent  laughter  that  the  note- 
book fell  from  my  hands.   G picked  up  my  pencil,  and 

without  deigning  to  respond  to  my  mirth  even  by  a  ges- 
ture of  scorn,  continued  writing  in  my  place,  more 
seriously  attentive  than  ever  to  the  words  of  the  charla- 


A  REMINISCENCE.  199 

tan,  and  with  the  absorbed  and  Eaphaelesque  attitude  of 
a  disciple  of  the  School  of  Athens. 

I  must  say  that  the  peasants,  growing  more  and  more 
dazzled,  shared  in  the  highest  degree  the  beatific  admira- 
tion of  G .     The  extremes  of  science   and  ignorance 

meet  in  the  extremes  of  artless  simplicity.  The  dialogue 
of  the  awful  mountebank  had  completely  mystified  the 
rustics  of  the  honest  little  hamlet.  The  peasant  is  a 
child ;  he  is  amazed  at  what  he  does  not  comprehend.  He 
loves  the  unintelligible,  the  mysterious,  and  the  pom- 
pously worded.  The  more  ignorant  man  is,  the  more  he 
is  charmed  by  the  obscure ;  the  more  barbarous  he  is,  the 
more  he  is  delighted  by  the  complex.  Nothing  is  less 
simple  than  the  savage.  The  idioms  of  the  Hurons,  the 
Botocudos,  and  the  Chesapeaks  are  forests  of  consonants, 
through  which,  half  ingulfed  in  the  mud  of  barely  ren- 
dered ideas,  creep  immense  and  hideous  words,  just  as 
the  antedeluvian  monsters  crawled  under  the  inextricable 
vegetation  of  the  primitive  world.  The  Algonquins 
translate  a  word  so  simple  and  short  as  France  by 
"  Mittigouchiouekendalakiank."  And  so,  when  the  tent 
was  opened,  the  crowd,  impatient  to  contemplate  the 
promised  marvels,  rushed  into  it.  The  Mittigouchioue- 
kendalakianks  of  charlatans  always  end  in  a  shower  of 
pence  or  pounds  according  to  the  nature  of  their 
audience. 

An  hour  after,  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  followed 
the  outskirt  of  a  little  wood.  G so  far  had  not  conde- 
scended to  address  a  single  word  to  me.  I  made  a 
thousand  useless  efforts  to  regain  his  favour.     Suddenly, 


200  THE   RHINE. 

apparently  awaking  from  a  profound  reverie,  and  as  if 
answering  himself,  he  said,  — 

"  And  he  spoke  so  admirably  about  it ! " 

"  About  the  itch,  was  it  ? "  I  asked  timidly. 

"  Yes,  about  the  itch  ! "  he  returned  firmly. 

After  a  silence,  he  added,  — 

"The  man  has  made  some  magnificent  microscopic 
observations.     Eeal  discoveries  they  are  ! " 

I  hazarded  a  word. 

"  He  must  have  experimented  on  the  body  of  the 
Egyptian  whom  he  has  made  his  lacky  and  musician." 

But  G was  not  listening. 

"  What  a  wonderful  thing,"  he  exclaimed,  "  and  what 
a  subject  for  melancholy  meditation !  A  disease  that 
pursues  man  when  he  is  dead !  Even  skeletons  have  the 
itch  ! " 

He  was  again  silent,  then  he  continued,  — 

"  Such  a  man  should  belong  to  the  third  class  of  the 
Institute.  Many  academicians  are  charlatans,  and  here 
is  a  charlatan  who  ought  to  be  an  academician." 

Now,  my  friend,  I  see  you  laugh  in  your  turn,  and 
cry,  —  "  Is  this  all  ?  Nice  adventures,  pleasant  stories, 
these  are  !  You  are  a  pedestrian  indeed !  A  meeting 
with  bears,  an  encounter  with  a  sword-swallower,  a  lec- 
ture in  the  open  air  on  the  difference  between  the  acariis 
of  man  and  the  acarus  of  the  camel,  a  course  of  philos- 
ophy on  comparative  itch  given  to  bumpkins  !  It  was 
worth  while  to  get  out  of  your  travelling  carriage  for 
this  !     Good  luck  to  you  ! " 

As  you  please.     For  myself,  I  know  not  whether  it  be 


FROM  LORCH  TO  BINGEN.  201 

the  springtime  or  the  joys  of  youth  that  render  these 
memories,  (old  enough  now,  alas  !)  delightful ;  they  have 
still  an  exquisite  charm  for  me.  Laugh,  then,  as  long  as 
you  like  at  the  j^cdestrian.  I  am  always  ready  to  begin 
them  again,  and  if  some  such  adventure  happened  to  me 
this  very  day  my  delight  would  be  extreme. 

But  such  good  fortune  is  rare,  and  when  I  undertake  an 
excursion  on  foot,  provided  there  is  a  cloudless  sky,  pro- 
vided the  villagers  look  happy,  and  the  dew  trembles  on 
the  grass,  provided  man  toils  and  the  sun  shines  and  the 
birds  sing,  I  thank  God  and  ask  for  no  further 
adventures. 

The  other  day,  about  half-past  five  in  the  morning, 
after  having  given  orders  for  my  luggage  to  be  trans- 
ported to  Bingen,  I  left  Lorch,  and  took  a  boat  to  convey 
me  to  the  other  side  of  the  river.  If  you  should  ever  be 
here,  do  the  same.  The  Eoman  and  Gothic  ruins  of  the 
right  bank  are  much  more  interesting  to  the  traveller 
than  the  slate-roofed  houses  of  the  left.  At  six  I  was 
seated,  after  a  somewhat  difticult  ascent,  upon  the  sum- 
mit of  a  heap  of  extinguished  lava,  which  overlooks 
Furstenberg  Castle  and  the  valley  of  Diebach.  After 
viewing  the  old  castle,  which  in  1321,  1632,  and  1689 
was  the  seat  of  European  struggles,  I  descended.  I  left 
the  village,  and  was  walking  joyously  along,  when  I  met 
three  painters,  with  whom  I  exchanged  a  friendly  "good- 
day."  Every  time  that  I  see  three  young  men  travelling 
on  foot,  whose  shining  eye-balls  reflect  the  fairy-land  of 
the  future,  I  cannot  prevent  myself  from  wishing  that 
their  chimeras  may  be  realized,  and  from  thinking  of  the 


202  THE   RHINE. 

three  brothers,  Caclenet,  Luynes,  and  Brandes,  who,  two 
hundred  years  ago,  set  out  one  beautiful  morning  for  the 
court  of  Henry  IV.,  having  amongst  them  only  one 
mantle,  which  each  wore  in  turn.  Fifteen  years  after- 
wards, under  Louis  XIII.,  one  of  them  became  Duke  of 
Chaulnes  ;  the  second.  Constable  of  France ;  and  the 
third,  Duke  of  Luxembourg !  Dream  on,  then,  young 
men ;  persevere  ! 

Travelling  by  threes  seems  to  be  the  fashion  upon  the 
borders  of  the  Khine,  for  I  had  scarcely  reached 
Neiderheimbach  when  I  met  three  more  walking  together. 

They  were  evidently  students  of  some  of  those  noble 
universities  which  tend  so  much  to  civilize  Germany. 
They  wore  classic  caps,  had  long  hair,  tight  frock-coats 
sticks  in  their  hands,  pipes  in  their  mouths,  and,  like 
painters,  wallets  on  their  backs.  They  appeared  to  be 
conversing  with  warmth,  and  were  apparently  going  to 
Bacharach.  In  passing,  one  of  them  cried  out,  on  salut- 
ing me, — 

"  Die  nobis  domine,  in  qua  parte  corporis  animam  veteres 
locant  philosophi  ? " 

I  returned  the  salutation,  and  replied,  "  In  corde  Plato, 
in  sanguine  Empedocles,  inter  duo  supercilia  Lucretius." 

The  three  young  men  smiled,  and  the  eldest  shouted, 
"  Vivat  Gallia  regina ! "  I  replied,  "  Vivat  Germania 
mater  ! "  We  then  saluted  each  other,  and  passed  on. 

Above  Neiderheimbach  is  the  sombre  forest  of  Sann, 
where,  hid  among  trees,  are  two  fortresses  in  ruins ;  the 
one,  that  of  Heimberg,  a  Eoman  castle ;  the  other,  Son- 
nech,  once  the  abode  of  brigands.   The  emperor  demolished 


SUBLIMITY  OF   NATURE.  203 

Sonnech  in  1212  ;  time  has  since  crumbled  Heimberg.  A 
ruin  still  more  awe-striking  is  hid  among  the  mountains ; 
it  is  called  Falkenburg. 

I  had,  as  I  have  already  stated,  left  the  village  behind 
me.  An  ardent  sun  was  above,  but  the  fresh  breeze  from 
the  river  cooled  the  air  around.  To  my  right,  between 
two  rocks,  was  the  narrow  entry  of  a  charming  ravine, 
abounding  with  shadows.  Swarms  of  little  birds  were 
chirping  joyously,  and  in  love  chasing  each  other  amongst 
the  leaves  ;  a  streamlet,  swollen  by  the  rains,  dashed, 
torrent-like,  over  the  herbage,  frightened  the  insects,  and 
when  falling  from  stone  to  stone  formed  little  cascades 
among  the  pebbles.  I  discovered  along  this  stream,  in  the 
darkness  which  the  trees  shed  around,  a  road,  that  a 
thousand  wild  flowers  —  the  water-lily,  the  amaranth,  the 
everlasting,  the  iris  —  hide  from  the  profane  and  deck  for 
the  poet.  There  are  moments  when  I  almost  believe  in 
the  intelligence  of  inanimate  things.  It  appeared  to  me 
as  if  I  heard  a  thousand  voices  exclaim,  — 

"  Where  goest  thou  ?  Seekest  thou  places  untrod  by 
human  foot,  but  where  Divinity  has  left  its  trace  ?  Thou 
wishest  thy  soul  to  commune  with  solitude  ;  thou  wishest 
light  and  shadow,  murmurings  and  peace,  changes  and 
serenity  ;  thou  wishest  the  place  where  the  Word  is  heard 
in  silence,  where  thou  seest  life  on  the  surface  and  eternity 
at  the  bottom ;  thou  lovest  the  desert ;  thou  hatest  not 
man ;  thou  seekest  the  greensward,  the  moss,  the  humid 
leaves,  tall  branches,  birds  which  warble,  running  waters, 
perfume  mingling  with  the  air.  Well,  enter  :  this  is  thy 
way."    It  required  no  consideration.    I  entered  the  ravine. 


204  THE   RHINE. 

To  tell  you  all  that  I  did  there,  or  rather  what  solitude 
did  for  me,  —  how  the  wasps  buzzed  round  the  violets, 
how  the  wings  of  birds  rustled  among  the  leaves ;  that 
which  startled  in  the  moss,  that  which  chirped  in  the 
nest ;  the  soft  and  indistinct  sound  of  vegetation,  the 
beauty  of  the  bull-fly,  the  activity  of  the  bee,  the  patience 
of  the  spider,  the  opening  of  flowers,  the  lamentations, 
the  distant  cries,  the  struggling  of  insect  with  insect ;  the 
exhalations  of  the  rocks,  which,  sighingly,  reached  the 
ear ;  the  rays  of  heaven  which  pierced  through  the  trees ; 
the  drops  of  water  that  fell,  like  tears,  from  flowers ; 
the  half  revelations  which  came  from  the  calm,  har- 
monious, slow,  and  continued  labour  of  all  those  creatures 
and  of  all  those  things  which  are  more  in  connection  with 
God  than  with  man,  —  to  tell  you  all  that,  my  friend, 
would  be  to  express  the  ineffable,  to  show  the  invisible, 
to  paint  infinity !  What  did  I  do  there  ?  I  no  longer 
know.  As  in  the  ravine  of  Saint  Goarshausen,  I  wan- 
dered, ruminated,  and,  in  adoring,  prayed  !  What  was  I 
thinking  of  ?  Do  not  ask  me.  There  are  moments  when 
our  thoughts  float  as  drowned  in  a  thousand  confused  ideas. 

Everything  in  these  mountains  mingled  in  my  reveries 
and  combined  with  my  fancies,  —  the  verdure,  the  ruins, 
the  phantoms,  the  landscape,  the  memories  of  the  men  who 
have  passed  away  in  these  solitudes,  the  history  which 
has  illuminated  them,  the  sun  which  still  shines  over 
them.  "  Ciesar,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  a  wayfarer  like  myself, 
has  perhaps  crossed  this  stream,  followed  by  the  soldier 
who  bore  his  sword.  Almost  all  the  great  voices  which 
have   shaken   the    human    intellect   have   troubled    the 


SUBLLMITY  OF  NATURE.  205 

Rhingau  and  the  Taunus  also.  Here  are  the  same 
mountains  that  heard  the  voice  of  Prince  Thomas  Aquinas 
—  till  then  known  as  the  los  mutus  —  uttering  that  bel- 
lowing cry  which  startled  the  world  :  "  Dedit  in  doctrina 
mugitum  quod  ^  in  toto  mundo  sonavit."  It  was  on 
these  mountains  that  John  Huss,  anticipating  Luther,  as 
if  the  curtain  was  rent  at  his  last  hour  and  let  him  have 
a  distinct  vision  of  the  future,  gave  forth  from  his  stake 
this  prophetic  warning :  "  To-day,  you  burn  the  goose,^ 
but  the  swan  shall  arise  from  the  funeral  pile  in  a  hundred 
years."  And  indeed,  it  was  through  these  rocks  that 
Luther,  a  hundred  years  after,  rising  at  the  appointed 
hour,  opened  his  wings  and  sent  forth  this  formidable 
shout :  "  Let  princes,  bishops,  monasteries,  churches,  and 
palaces  die  rather  than  one  human  soul ! "  And  from 
branches  and  briers  and  ruins  I  seemed  to  hear  this 
answer  :  "0  Luther !  princes,  bishops,  monasteries, 
churches,  and  palaces  are  dead  !  " 

Is  history  great  or  insignificant  when  thus  immersed 
in  those  inexhaustible  and  vital  things  which  are,  persist, 
bud  and  flower,  and  cover  her  with  their  eternal  vegetation  ? 
Decide  this  question  if  you  can.  As  for  myself,  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  contact  of  Nature,  which  is  in  such  in- 
timate communion  with  God,  sometimes  enlarges  and 
sometimes  contracts  man.  It  is  much  for  man  that  he 
possesses,  that  he  has  an  intelligence  special  to  himself, 
and  that  he  does  his  work  and  plays  his  part  in  the 
middle  of  the  immense  facts  of  creation.     In  presence  of 

1  Sic,  in  text ;  it  should  be  qui.  —  Tr. 

2  Hus  in  Bohemian  means  goose.  —  Tr. 


206  THE   RHINE. 

a  great  oak  full  of  antiquity  and  life,  swollen  with  sap, 
laden  with  foliage,  and  the  home  of  myriad  birds,  it  is 
much  to  be  able  to  recall  to  mind  the  shade  that  was 
Luther,  the  spectre  that  was  John  Huss,  the  phantom 
that  was  C<iesar. 

I  must  confess,  however,  that  at  a  certain  point  in  my 
walk,  all  these  memories  disappeared,  man  faded  out  of 
sight  and  God  alone  possessed  my  soul. 

I  at  last  reached  —  I  do  not  know  how  —  the  summit 
of  a  very  high  hill,  covered  with  short  broom.  In  all  my 
excursions  upon  the  banks  of  the  Ehine,  I  saw  nothing 
so  beautiful.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  reach  were  prairies, 
waters,  and  magic  forests  resembling  bunches  of  green 
feathers.  It  was  one  of  those  places  where  we  imagine 
we  see  the  tail  of  that  magnificent  peacock  which  we  call 
Nature. 

Behind  the  hill  on  which  I  was  seated,  on  the  summit 
of  a  mount  covered  with  fir  and  chestnut  trees,  I  perceived 
a  sombre  ruin,  a  colossal  heap  of  brown  basalt,  in  the  form 
of  a  citadel  What  castle  was  it  ?  I  could  not  tell,  for  I 
did  not  know  where  I  was.  To  examine  a  ruin  at  hand 
is  my  mania ;  therefore,  at  the  expiration  of  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  I  was  wandering  through  it,  searching,  foraging, 
and  turning  over  huge  stones,  with  the  hope  of  finding  an 
inscription  which  would  throw  some  light  upon  this  ven- 
erable ruin. 

An  antiquary  who  draws  the  portrait  of  a  ruin,  like  a 
lover  who  draws  the  portrait  of  his  mistress,  runs  the  risk 
of  boring  others  while  pleasing  himself.  To  the  indifferent 
listener  all  beauties  are  the  same  and  all  ruins  also.     I  do 


A  RUIN.  207 

not  say,  my  friend,  that  I  intend  from  henceforth  to  spare 
you  all  descriptions  of  old  edifices,  however.  I  know  that 
history  and  art  alike  inthrall  you ;  I  know  you  belong  to 
the  class  for  whom  everything  that  affects  the  intellect  has 
charms,  and  not  to  the  vulgar  rabble.  But  now  I  will  only 
refer  you  to  the  minute  portrait  which  I  have  given  you 
of  the  Mouse.  You  can  imagine  for  yourself  brambles 
and  sunken  roofs  and  broken  windows,  and  above  all  this 
four  or  five  hags  of  towers, — huge,  black,  dismantled,  and 
formidable.  I  roamed  about  these  ruins,  rummaging  and 
questioning ;  I  was  turning  over  the  broken  slabs  in  the 
hope  of  finding  some  inscription  that  would  indicate  to  me 
a  fact,  or  some  sculpture  that  would  reveal  an  epoch,  when 
an  opening  that  had  once  been  a  door  showed  me  a  passage 
under  a  vault  into  which  a  sunbeam  penetrated  through 
a  chink.  I  entered,  and  found  myself  in  a  low  chamber 
lit  by  loopholes  whose  form  and  embrasures  proved  that 
they  had  served  for  the  discharge  of  falconets  and  scor- 
pions. I  looked  through  one  of  these  loopholes,  gently 
drawing  aside  the  flowers  that  stop  it  up  to-day.  It  was 
not  a  smiling  landscape  that  met  my  view.  All  I  saw 
was  a  narrow  and  dark  valley,  or  rather  a  rent  in  the  moun- 
tain once  crossed  by  a  bridge,  an  arch  of  which  only  re- 
mains. On  one  side  are  detached  stones,  and  earth  ;  on  the 
other,  a  stream  blackened  by  its  basaltic  bed  rushes  along 
the  ravine.  Sickly  trees  cast  a  shade  over  some  meadows 
carpeted  with  a  turf  rank  as  that  of  a  graveyard.  I  know 
not  if  it  was  an  illusion  or  the  play  of  shade  and  wind, 
but  I  fancied  I  saw  in  spots  immense  circles  faintly  out- 
lined on  the  tall  grass,  as  if  they  were  the  traces  of  some 


208  THE   RHLNE. 

mysterious  nocturnal  rounds  once  danced  there.  The 
ravine  is  not  merely  lonely ;  it  is  lugubrious.  It  looks  as 
if  it  might  have  been  the  scene  of  hideous  spectacles,  as  if 
it  were  the  witness  once  of  evil  or  supernatural  things, 
and  as  if  it  still  preserved,  even  in  the  noonday  sun,  the 
memory  of  some  sadness  or  horror.  In  this  valley,  more 
than  in  any  spot  on  earth,  you  feel  distinctly  that  there 
the  nights  must  be  cold  and  gloomy  indeed,  and  that  they 
have  left  on  the  colour  of  the  grass  and  on  the  form  of  the 
rocks  a  dreary  and  sinister  influence. 

On  leaving  the  lower  chamber,  the  corner  of  a  stone, 
one  end  buried  in  the  rubbish,  struck  my  view.  I  imme- 
diately stooped,  and  with  my  hands  and  feet  cleared 
everything  away,  under  the  impression  of  finding  upon  it 
the  name  of  this  mysterious  ruin.  On  this  large  block  of 
stone,  the  figure  of  a  man,  clothed  in  armour,  but  without 
a  head,  was  sculptured,  and  under  his  feet  were  the  fol- 
lowing lines : — 

VoX  Tacvit  periit  lvX.    NoX  rvit  et  rvit  vmbra 

VIR   CARET   IN    TVMBA   QVO    CARET   EFFIGIES. 

I  was  still  in  ignorance.  This  castle  was  an  enigma. 
I  had  sought  for  words.  I  had  found  them,  —  that  is, 
an  inscription  without  a  date,  an  epitaph  without  a 
name,  a  statue  without  a  head.  A  gloomy  answer  and 
an  obscure  explanation,  you  must  admit. 

Who  is  the  person  referred  to  in  this  distich,  which  is 
so  dismal  in  the  matter  and  so  barbarous  in  the  form.^ 

1  It  is  very  hard  to  see  where  the  barbarism  is  in  the  form  of  this 
elegiac  verse.  —  Tr. 


THE  STATUE.  209 

If  we  are  to  believe  the  second  verse  engraved  on  this 
sepulchral  stone,  the  skeleton  beneath  was  as  headless 
as  the  effigy  above.  What  is  the  significance  of  these 
three  X's  detached,  so  to  say,  from  the  rest  of  the  in- 
scription by  the  largeness  of  the  capitals  ?  After  looking 
with  more  attention,  and  wiping  the  statue  with  a  tuft 
of  grass,  I  found  some  singular  characters  on  it.  Three 
ciphers  were  traced  in  three  different  places ;  this  one  on 
the  right  hand,  — 

XXX 

and  this  on  the  left  hand,  — 

m 

and  this  other  in  the  place  of  the  head,  — 


Now,  these  three  ciphers  are  only  different  combinations 
of  the  same  monogram.  Each  of  the  three  is  composed  of 
the  three  X's  which  the  engraver  of  the  epitaph  has  made 
prominent  in  the  inscription.  If  this  tomb  had  been  in 
Brittany,  the  three  X's  might  have  been  connected  with 
the  Combat  of  the  Thirty ;  if  it  had  been  dated  in  the 

VOL.   XXVII.  —  14 


210  THE  RHINE. 

seventeenth  century,  these  three  X's  might  have  referred 
to  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  But  what  meaning  could  they 
have  in  Germany  in  the  fourteenth  century  ?  And,  then, 
was  it  chance  which,  in  order  to  thicken  the  obscurity, 
had  employed  in  the  formation  of  this  grisly  cipher  no 
other  element  than  this  letter  X,  which  bars  approach 
to  all  problems,  and  which  designates  the  unknown  ?  I 
acknowledge  that  I  could  not  make  it  out.  Still,  I  re- 
called the  fact  that  this  mode  of  alluding  mysteriously 
to  the  decapitated  is  peculiar  to  all  epochs  and  to  all 
peoples.  At  Venice,  in  the  ducal  gallery  of  the  Grand 
Council,  a  black  frame  fills  the  place  of  the  portrait  of 
the  fifty-seventh  doge,  and  beneath  it  the  gloomy  repub- 
lic has  written  this  sinister  memento,  — 

Locvs  Marini  Falieri  Decapitati. 

In  Egypt,  when  the  weary  traveller  arrives  at  Biban- 
el-Molouk,  he  finds  in  the  sands,  amid  ruined  palaces  and 
temples,  a  mysterious  sepulchre,  which  is  the  sepulchre 
of  Rameses  V.  ;  and  on  this  sepulchre  he  sees  the 
legend,  — 


a  * 


And  this  hieroglyph,  which  is  relating  history  to  the 
desert,  signifies,  "  Who  is  without  a  head."  But  in  Egypt 
as  in  Venice,  in  the  ducal  palace  as  at  Biban-el-Molouk, 
we  know  where  we  are ;  we  know  the  legend  relates  to 
Marino  Faliero  or  to  Eameses  V,     Here  I  was  ignorant 


THE  STATUE.  211 

of  everything,  —  both  of  the  name  of  the  place  and  of  the 
man.  My  curiosity  was  awakened  in  the  highest  degree. 
I  declare  to  you  the  very  silence  of  this  ruin  annoyed 
me,  and  almost  made  me  lose  my  temper.  I  do  not 
recognize  any  right  either  in  a  ruin  or  in  a  tomb  to  puz- 
zle people  so. 

Just  as  I  was  issuing  from  this  low  chamber,  delighted 
to  have  discovered  this  curious  monument,  but  disap- 
pointed at  not  learning  more,  while  buried  in  reflection, 
a  distinct  sound  of  voices  reached  me.  I  listened.  It 
was  a  quick  dialogue  in  English,  a  few  words  only  of 
which  I  could  distinguish  amid  the  shouts  of  laughter  and 
of  joy.  These  were,  "  Fall  of  the  mountain  —  Subterra- 
nean passage  —  Very  bad  footpath."  On  rising  from  the 
tombstone  I  beheld  three  young  girls,  clothed  in  white, 
with  fair  faces,  smiling  cheeks,  and  bright  blue  eyes. 
Nothing  could  be  more  magical,  more  charming,  for  a 
reveur  so  situated  than  this  apparition.  It  would  have 
been  pardonable  for  a  poet  to  have  taken  them  for  angels 
or  saints  of  heaven.  I  must  affirm  that  to  me  thev  were 
three  English  girls. 

It  suddenly  crossed  my  mind  that  by  profiting  by 
these  angels  I  might  find,  without  further  trouble,  the 
name  of  the  castle.  They  spoke  English,  therefore  I 
concluded  that  they  belonged  to  that  country.  To  give 
me  countenance,  I  opened  my  portfolio,  called  to  my  aid 
the  little  English  of  which  I  was  master,  then  began  to 
look  into  the  ravine,  murmuring  to  myself,  "  Beautiful 
view  !     Very  fine  !     Very  pretty  waterfall !  "  etc. 

The  young  girls,  surprised  at  my  sudden  appearance, 


212  THE   EHIXE. 

began,  while  stifling  tlieir  laughs,  to  whisper  to  each 
other.  They  looked  charming,  but  were  evidently  laugh- 
ing at  me.  I  summoned  up  courage,  advanced  a  few 
steps  towards  the  blooming  group,  which  remained  sta- 
tionary, and  saluting  with  my  most  gracious  air  the 
eldest  of  the  three,  uttered,  — 

"  "V\Tiat,  if  you  please,  is  the  name  of  this  castle  ? " 

The  sweet  girl  smiled,  looked  at  her  two  companions, 
and,  slightly  blushing,  replied  in  French,  — 

"I  believe,  sir,  it  is  called  Falkenburg,  —  at  least,  a 
French  gentleman,  who  is  now  speaking  with  my  father 
in  the  Grand  Tower,  said  so.  If  you  will  take  the  trouble 
to  go  round  that  way,  sir,  you  will  meet  them."  These 
words,  so  much  to  the  point,  and  spoken  with  a  pure 
French  accent,  sufficed  to  convince  me  of  my  mistake ; 
but  the  charming  creature  took  the  trouble  of  adding  : 

"  "We  are  not  English,  sir,  —  we  are  French ;  and  you 
are  from  France." 

"  How  do  you  know.  Miss,"  1  replied,  "  that  I  am  a 
Frenchman  ? " 

"  By  your  English,"  the  youngest  replied. 

The  eldest  sister  looked  at  her  with  an  air  of  severity, 
—  that  is,  if  beauty,  grace,  youth,  innocence,  and  joy  can 
have  a  severe  air.  For  my  part,  I  burst  into  a  fit  of 
laughter. 

"But,  young  ladies,"  I  said,  "you,  yourselves,  were 
speaking  English  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  It  was  only  for  amusement,"  the  youngest  replied. 

"  For  exercise,"  said  the  other,  chidingly. 

This  flat  and  motherly  rectification  was  lost  upon  the 


FALKEXBURG.  213 

young  girl,  who  ran  gaily  to  the  tombstone,  raising  slightly 
her  gown,  on  account  of  the  stones,  and  displaying  the 
prettiest  foot  imaginable.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  come  and 
see  this  !     It  is  a  statue;  it  has  no  head ;  it  is  a  man ! " 

The  other  two  joined  their  sister;  and  a  minute  after- 
wards all  three  were  upon  the  tomb,  the  sun  reflecting 
their  handsome  profiles  upon  the  granite  spectre.  A  few 
minutes  ago.  I  was  asking  myself  the  names  of  these 
young  girls ;  and  I  cannot  tell  you  what  I  felt  when 
seeing  thus  together  these  two  mysteries,  the  one  full  of 
horror,  the  other  full  of  charms. 

By  listening  to  their  soft  whisperings,  I  discovered  the 
name  of  the  second.  She  was  the  prettiest,  —  a  true  prin- 
cess for  fairy  tales.  Her  long  eyelashes  half  hid  the 
bright  apple  of  her  eye,  that  the  pure  light  penetrated. 
She  was  between  her  younger  and  her  elder  sister,  as 
pudeur  between  naivete  and  grace,  bearing  a  faint  resem- 
blance to  both.  She  looked  at  me  twice,  but  spoke  not ; 
she  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  whose  voice  I  had 
not  heard,  and  the  only  one  whose  name  I  knew.  At  one 
time  her  younger  sister  said  to  her,  "  Look,  Stella  ! "  I 
at  no  former  period  so  well  understood  all  that  is  limpid, 
luminous,  and  charming  in  that  name. 

The  youngest  made  these  reflections  in  an  audible  voice : 
"Poor  man!  they  have  cut  his  head  off.  It  was  then 
the  time  when  they  took  off  the  heads  of  men  ! "  Then 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  here 's  the  epitaph.  It  is  Latin : 
'  Vox  tacuit  periit  Lux.'  It  is  difficult  to  read.  I  should 
like  to  know  what  it  says." 

"  Let  us  go  for  father,"  said  the  eldest ;   "  he  will  ex- 


214  THE  KHINE. 

plain  it  to  us."  Thereupon  all  three  bounded  away  like 
fawns.  They  did  not  even  deign  to  ask  me ;  and  I  was 
somewhat  humbled  on  thinking  that  my  English  had 
given  them  a  bad  opinion  of  my  Latin.  I  took  a  pencil 
and  wrote  beneath  the  inscription  the  following  transla- 
tion of  the  distich  :  — 

Dans  la  nuit  la  voix  se  tue, 
L'ombre  eteignit  le  flanibleau. 
Ce  qui  manque  a  la  statue 
Manque  a  rbomme  en  son  tombeau. 

Just  as  I  was  finishing  the  last  line  I  heard  the 
young  girls  shouting,  "  This  way,  father,  this  way  !  "  I 
made  my  escape,  however,  before  they  appeared.  Did 
they  see  the  explanation  that  I  left  them  ?  I  do  not 
know.  I  hastened  to  a  different  part  of  the  ruin,  and 
saw  them  no  more.  Neither  did  I  hear  anything  further 
of  the  mysterious  decapitated  chevalier.  Sad  destiny  ! 
"What  crimes  had  that  miserable  man  committed  ?  Man 
had  bereft  him  of  life ;  Providence  had  added  to  that 
forgetfulness.  His  statue  was  deprived  of  a  head,  his 
name  is  lost  to  legends,  and  his  history  is  no  longer  in 
the  memory  of  man  !  His  tombstone,  also,  will  soon 
disappear.  Some  vine-dressers  of  Sonnech  or  of  Eup- 
pertsberg  will  take  it,  and  trample  upon  the  mutilated 
skeleton  that  it  perhaps  still  covers,  break  the  stone  in 
two,  and  make  a  seat  of  it,  on  which  peasants  will  sit, 
old  women  knit,  and  children  play.  In  our  days,  both 
in  Germany  and  France,  ruins  are  of  utility ;  with  old 
palaces  new  huts  are  constructed. 

But,  my  friend,  allow  me  to  return  to  Falkenburg.     It 


FALKENBURG.  215 

is  enough  for  me,  in  this  nest  of  legends,  to  speak  of  this 
old  tower,  still  erect  and  proud,  though  its  interior  be 
dilapidated.  If  you  do  not  know  the  adventures  that 
transpired  here,  the  legends  that  abound  respecting 
this  place,  a  recital  of  a  few  of  them  may  amuse  you. 
One  in  particular  (that  of  Guntram  and  Liba)  starts 
fresh  in  my  memory.  It  was  upon  this  bridge  that 
Guntram  and  Liba  met  two  men  carrying  a  coffin,  and 
on  this  stair  that  Liba  threw  herself  into  her  lover's 
arms,  saying  smilingly,  "  A  coffin  !  No,  it  is  the  nuptial 
bed  that  you  have  seen ! "  It  was  in  this  court,  at  present 
filled  with  hemlock  in  flower,  that  Guntram,  when  con- 
ducting his  bride  to  the  altar,  saw  —  to  him  alone  visible 
—  a  man  clothed  in  black,  and  a  woman  with  a  veil  over 
her  face,  walking  before  him.  It  was  in  this  Roman 
chapel,  now  crumbling,  where  living  lizards  now  creep 
upon  those  that  are  sculptured,  that,  when  Guntram  was 
putting  the  wedding-ring  upon  the  taper  finger  of  his 
bride,  he  suddenly  felt  the  cold  grasp  of  an  unknown 
hand,  —  it  was  that  of  the  maiden  of  the  castle,  who, 
while  she  combed  her  hair,  had  sung,  the  night  long, 
near  an  open  and  empty  grave. 

I  remained  several  hours  in  these  ruins ;  a  thousand 
ideas  crowded  upon  me.  Spiritus  loci  !  My  next  chap- 
ter may  contain  them.  Hunger  also  came ;  but,  thanks 
to  the  French  deer  that  a  fair  voyageuse  whom  I  met 
spoke  to  me  about,  I  was  enabled  to  reach  a  village  on 
the  borders  of  the  Ehine,  which  is,  I  believe,  called 
Trecktlingshausen,  —  the  ancient  Trajani  Castrum. 

All  that  is  here  in  the  shape  of  an  aiCb&rge  is  a  taverne 


216  THE  RHINE. 

a  Here ;  and  all  that  I  found  for  dinner  was  a  tough 
leg  of  mutton,  which  a  student,  who  was  smoking  his 
pipe  at  the  door,  tried  to  dissuade  me  from  eating  by 
saying  that  a  hungry  Englishman,  who  had  been  an  hour 
before  me,  had  tried  to  masticate  it,  but  had  left  off  in 
disgust.  I  did  not  reply  haughtily,  as  Mardchal  de  Crdqui 
did  before  the  fortress  of  Gayi,  "What  Barbarossa  can- 
not take,  Barbegrise  will  take;"  but  I  ate  of  the  leg  of 
mutton. 

I  set  out  as  the  sun  was  declining,  and  soon  left  the 
Gothic  chapel  of  Saint  Clement  behind  me.  My  road 
lay  along  the  base  of  several  mountains,  on  the  summits 
of  which  were  situated  three  castles,  —  Keichenstein, 
Eheinstein  (both  of  which  were  demolished  by  Eodolph 
of  Hapsburg  and  rebuilt  by  the  Count  Palatine,  and 
Vaugtsberg,  inhabited  in  1348  by  Kuno  of  Falkenstein 
and  repaired  by  Prince  Frederick  of  Prussia).  My 
thoughts  turned  upon  a  ruin  that  I  knew  lay  between 
the  place  where  I  was  and  Bingen,  —  a  strange,  unsightly 
ruin,  which,  between  the  conflux  of  the  Nahue  and  the 
Ehine,  stands  erect  in  the  middle  of  the  river. 

I  remember  from  childhood  a  picture  that  some 
German  servant  had  hung  above  my  bed  :  it  repre- 
sented an  old,  isolated,  dilapidated  tower,  surrounded 
by  water ;  the  heavens  above  it  were  dark,  and  covered 
with  heavy  clouds.  In  the  evenings,  after  having  offered 
up  my  prayers  to  God,  and  before  reposing,  I  looked 
attentively  at  the  picture.  In  the  dead  of  the  night  I 
saw  it  in  my  dreams,  and  then  it  was  terrible.  The 
tower  became  enormous,  the  lightning  flashed  from  the 


MAUSETHURM.  217 

clouds,  the  waters  roared,  the  wind  whistled  among  the 
mountains,  and  seemed  every  moment  about  to  pluck  them 
from  their  base.  One  day  I  asked  the  servant  the  name 
of  the  tower,  and  she  replied,  making  the  sign  of  the 
cross  upon  her  forehead,  "  Mausethurm."  Afterwards 
she  told  me  the  following  story :  — 

At  one  time  there  lived  at  Mayence  a  cruel  arch- 
bishop named  Hatto,  a  miserly  priest,  who,  she  said, 
was  "  readier  to  open  his  hand  to  bless  than  to  bestow  in 
charity."  During  one  bad  harvest  he  purchased  all  the 
corn,  in  order  to  sell  it  again  at  a  high  price  (money 
was  the  sole  desire  of  this  wicked  priest)  ;  at  length 
famine  became  so  great  that  the  peasants  in  the  vil- 
lages of  the  Ehine  were  dying  of  hunger ;  the  people 
assembled  in  the  town  of  Mayence,  weeping,  and 
demanding  bread,  and  the  archbishop  refused  to  give 
them  any.  The  starving  people  did  not  disperse,  but 
surrounded  the  palace,  uttering  frightful  groans.  Hatto, 
annoyed  by  the  cries  of  starvation,  caused  his  archers 
to  seize  the  men  and  women,  old  and  young,  and  to 
shut  them  up  in  a  granary,  to  which  he  set  fire.  "  It 
was,"  added  the  old  woman,  "  a  spectacle  that  might  have 
caused  the  stones  to  weep."  Hatto  did  nothing  but 
laugh,  and  as  the  wretched  sufferers  were  screaming  in 
agony,  and  were  expiring  in  the  flames,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Do  you  hear  the  squeaking  of  the  rats  ?  " 
The  next  day  the  fatal  granary  was  in  ashes,  and  there 
were  no  longer  any  inhabitants  in  Mayence.  The  town 
seemed  dead  and  deserted,  when  suddenly  a  swarm  of 
rats  sprang,  like  the  worms  in  the  ulcers  of  Ahasuerus, 


218  THE   RHINE. 

from  the  ashes  of  the  granary,  coming  from  under  the 
ground,  appearing  in  every  crevice,  swarming  the  streets, 
the  citadel,  the  palace,  the  caves,  the  chambers,  and  the 
alcoves.  It  was  a  scourge,  an  affliction,  a  hideous 
fourmillement.  Hatto,  in  despair,  quitted  Mayence  and 
fled  to  the  plains,  but  the  rats  followed  him  ;  he  shut 
himself  up  in  Bingen,  which  was  surrounded  by  walls, 
but  the  rats  gained  access  by  creeping  under  them. 
Then  the  despairing  bishop  caused  a  tower  to  be  erected 
in  the  middle  of  the  Rhine,  and  took  refuge  in  it ;  the 
rats  swam  over,  climbed  up  the  tower,  gnawed  the  doors 
and  windows,  the  walls  and  ceilings,  and  at  last,  reach- 
ing the  palace,  where  the  miserable  archbishop  was  hid, 
devoured  him.  At  present  the  malediction  of  Heaven 
and  of  man  is  upon  this  tower,  which  is  called  Mause- 
thurm.  It  is  deserted;  it  is  crumbling  into  ruins  in 
the  middle  of  the  stream ;  and  sometimes  at  night  a 
strange  red  vapour  is  seen  issuing  from  it  resembling  the 
smoke  of  a  furnace,  —  it  is  the  soul  of  Hatto,  which 
hovers  round  the  place. 

There  is  one  thing  remarkable.  History,  occasionally, 
is  immoral ;  but  legends  are  always  moral,  and  tend  to 
virtue.  In  history  the  powerful  prosper,  tyrants  reign, 
the  wicked  conduct  themselves  with  propriety,  and 
monsters  do  well ;  a  Sylla  is  transformed  into  an 
honourable  man ;  a  Louis  XL  and  a  Cromwell  die  in 
their  beds.  In  tales,  hell  is  always  visible.  There  is 
not  a  fault  that  has  not  its  punishment,  not  a  crime 
which  leads  not  to  inquietude,  no  wicked  men  but  those 
who   become  wretched.     Man,   who  is    the  inventor   of 


MAUSETHURM.  219 

fiction,  feels  that  lie  bad  no  right  to  make  statements  and 
leave  to  vague  supposition  their  consequences ;  for  he  is 
groping  in  the  darkness,  —  is  sure  of  nothing  ;  he  requires 
instruction  and  counsel,  and  dares  not  relate  events  with- 
out drawing  immediate  conclusions.  God,  who  is  the 
originator  of  history,  shows  what  he  chooses,  and  knows 
the  rest. 

Mausethurm  is  a  convenient  word,  for  we  may  find  in 
it  whatever  we  desire.  There  are  individuals  who 
believe  themselves  capable  of  judging  of  everything, 
who  chase  poesy  from  everything,  and  who  say,  as  the 
man  did  to  the  nightingale,  "  Stupid  beast !  won't  you 
cease  to  make  that  noise  ! "  These  people  affirm  that  the 
word  Mausethurm  is  derived  from  "  maus  "  or  "  mauth," 
which  signifies  "  custom-house ; "  that  in  the  tenth 
century,  before  the  bed  of  the  river  was  enlarged,  the 
Ehine  had  only  one  passage,  and  that  the  authorities  of 
Biugen  levied,  by  means  of  this  tower,  a  duty  upon  all 
vessels  that  passed.  For  these  grave  thinkers,  —  these 
wise-acres,  —  the  cursed  tower  was  a  douane,  and  Hatto 
was  a  custom-house  officer. 

According  to  the  old  women,  with  whom  I  freely 
associated,  Mausethurm  is  derived  from  "  maus  "  or  "  mus," 
which  signifies  a  "  rat."  The  pretended  custom-house  is 
the  Rat  Tower,  and  its  toll-keeper  a  spectre. 

After  all,  these  two  opinions  may  be  reconciled.  It  is 
not  altogether  improbable  that  towards  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  and  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
after  Luther,  after  Erasmus,  several  burgomasters  of  nerve 
made  use  of  the  tower  of  Hatto  for  a  custom-house.    Why 


220  THE   RHINE. 

not?  Eome  made  a  custom-house  of  the  temple  of  An- 
tonius,  the  dogana.  What  Eome  did  to  History,  Bingen 
might  well  do  to  Legend. 

In  that  case  "  Mauth  "  might  be  right,  and  "  Mause  "  not 
be  wrong. 

Let  that  be  as  it  may,  one  thing  is  certain,  —  that 
since  the  old  servant  told  me  the  story  of  Hatto,  Mause- 
thurm  has  always  been  one  of  the  familiar  visions  of  my 
mind.  You  are  aware  that  there  are  no  men  without 
their  phantoms,  as  there  are  none  without  their  whims. 

Night  is  the  time  of  dreams ;  at  one  time  a  ray  of  light 
appears,  then  a  flame  of  fire ;  and  according  to  the  reflec- 
tion, the  same  dream  may  be  a  celestial  glory  or  an  appa- 
rition of  hell. 

I  must  admit  that  the  Eat  Tower,  in  the  middle  of  its 
agitated  waters,  never  appeared  to  me  but  with  a  horrible 
aspect.  Also  —  shall  I  avow  it  ?  —  when  chance,  by  whose 
fantasy  I  was  led,  brought  me  to  the  banks  of  the  Ehine, 
the  first  thought  that  struck  me  was,  not  that  I  should 
see  the  Dome  of  Mayence  or  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne  or 
the  Poalz,  but  that  I  should  see  the  Eat  Tower. 

Judge  then  of  my  feelings,  poor  believing  poet  and 
infatuated  antiquary  that  I  am !  Twilight  slowly  suc- 
ceeded day  ;  the  hills  became  sombre,  the  trees  dark,  and 
a  few  stars  twinkled  in  the  heavens.  I  walked  on,  my 
eyes  fixed  on  obscurity ;  I  felt  that  I  was  approaching 
Mausethurm,  and  that  in  a  few  minutes  that  redoubtable 
ruin,  which  to  me  had  up  to  this  day  been  only  a  dream, 
was  about  to  become  a  reality.  A  Chinese  proverb  says  : 
"  Bend  the  bow  to  much,  and  the  arrow  swerves."     And 


MAUSETHURM.  221 

this  was  the  very  thing  that  happened  to  my  mind. 
Gradually,  that  vapour  which  is  called  reverie  entered  my 
soul.  The  vague  rustling  of  the  foliage  was  scarcely 
heard  on  the  mountain ;  the  faint  but  clear-toned  and 
delicious  clinking  of  a  distant  invisible  anvil  came  to 
my  ears.  Insensibly  the  thought  of  the  Mausethurm, 
the  rats,  and  the  archbishop  faded  away.  I  listened, 
while  sauntering  along,  to  the  clang  of  the  anvil,  which 
among  all  the  sounds  of  the  evening  is  the  one  that 
awakens  in  my  mind  the  most  inexpressible  ideas.  It 
ceased  before  I  ceased  listening ;  and,  I  do  not  know 
how  it  happened,  but  at  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
I  had  composed  the  verses  which  I  send  you. 

L' Amour  forgeait.  Au  bruit  cle  son  enclume, 
Tous  les  oiseaux,  troubles,  rouvraient  les  yeux; 
Car  c'etait  I'heure  ou  se  repand  la  brume, 
Oil  sur  les  monts,  comme  un  feu  qui  s'allume, 
Brille  Venus,  I'escarboucle  des  cieux. 

La  grive  au  nid,  la  caille  en  son  champ  d'orge, 
S'interrogeaient,  disant  :  Que  fait-il  la  ! 
Que  forge-t-il  si  tard  1  —  Un  rouge-gorge 
Leur  repondit  :  Moi,  je  sais  ce  qu'il  forge  ; 
C'est  un  regard  qu'il  a  pris  a  Stella, 

Et  les  oiseaux,  riant  du  jeune  maitre, 
De  s'ecrier :  Amour,  que  ferez-vous 
De  ce  regard,  qu'aucun  fiel  ne  penetre  ? 
II  est  trop  pur  pour  vous  servir,  6  trattre  ! 
Pour  vous  servir,  mechant,  il  est  trop  doux 

Mais  Cupido,  parmi  les  etincelles, 

Leur  dit:  Dormez,  petits  oiseaux  des  bois. 

Couvez  vos  oeufs  et  repliez  vos  ailes. 

Les  purs  regards  sont  nies  flecbes  mortelles  ; 

Les  plus  doux  j^eux  sont  mes  pires  carquois. 


222  THE   RHINE. 

I  came  to  a  turn  in  the  road,  and  suddenly  stopped. 
At  my  feet  was  the  Ehine,  running  rapidly,  and  murmur- 
ing among  the  bushes ;  to  my  right  and  left,  mountains, 
or  rather  huge  dark  heaps,  whose  summits  were  lost  in 
a  sky  in  which  a  star  was  scarcely  to  be  seen ;  at  the 
base,  for  the  horizon,  an  immense  curtain  of  darkness  ; 
in  the  middle  of  the  flood,  in  the  distance,  stood  a  large 
black  tower,  of  a  strange  form,  from  which  a  singular 
red  light  issued,  resembling  the  vapour  of  a  furnace,  cast- 
ing a  glare  upon  the  surrounding  mountains,  showing  a 
mournful-looking  ruin  on  the  left  bank,  and  reflecting 
itself  fantastically  on  the  waters.  There  was  no  human 
voice  to  be  heard ;  no,  not  even  the  chirping  of  a  bird. 
All  was  solitude, — a  fearful  and  sad  silence,  troubled 
only  by  the  monotonous  murmurings  of  the  Ehine. 

My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  Mausethurm.  I  could  not 
imagine  it  more  frightful  than  it  appeared.  All  was 
there,  —  night,  clouds,  mountains ;  the  quivering  of  the 
reeds ;  the  noise  of  the  flood,  full  of  secret  horror,  like 
the  roaring  of  hydras  under  water ;  the  sad  and  faint 
blasts  of  wind ;  the  shadows,  abandonment,  isolation  ;  all, 
even  to  the  vapour  of  the  furnace  upon  the  tower,  —  the 
soul  of  Hatto  ! 

An  idea  crossed  my  mind,  perhaps  the  most  simple, 
but  which  at  that  moment  produced  a  giddiness  in  my 
head.  I  wished  at  that  hour,  without  waiting  till  next 
day,  or  till  daylight,  to  go  to  the  ruin.  The  apparition 
was  before  my  eyes,  the  night  was  dark,  the  phantom 
of  the  archbishop  was  upon  the  tower.  It  was  the  time 
to  visit  Mausethurm. 


MAUSETHURM.  223 

But  how  could  I  do  it  ?  Where  could  I  find  a  hoat  in 
such  a  place  ?  To  swim  across  the  Rhine  would  be  to 
evince  too  great  a  taste  for  spectres.  Moreover,  had  I 
imagined  myself  a  good  swimmer,  and  been  fool  enough 
for  such  an  act,  the  redoubtable  gulf  of  Bingerloch,  which 
formerly  swallowed  up  boats  as  sea-dogs  swallow  her- 
rings, and  which  is  at  this  identical  spot,  would  have 
effectually  deterred  me.     I  was  somewhat  embarrassed. 

Continuing  my  way  towards  the  ruin,  I  remembered 
that  the  tinkling  of  the  silver  bell  and  the  spectres  of 
the  dungeon  of  Velmich  did  not  prevent  the  peasants 
from  propping  the  vine  and  exploring  the  ruins ;  I  con- 
cluded that  near  a  gulf,  where  fish  necessarily  abound,  I 
should  probably  meet  with  the  cabin  of  some  fisherman. 
When  vine-dressers  brave  Falkenstein  and  his  Mouse, 
fishermen  might  well  dare  Hatto  and  his  Eats. 

I  was  not  deceived.  I  continued,  however,  walking 
for  some  time  before  I  met  anything ;  but  at  length 
reached  a  point  of  the  bank  where  the  Nahue  joins  the 
Ehine.  I  began  to  give  up  all  hopes  of  meeting  a  water- 
man, but  on  decending  towards  some  osiers,  I  descried 
a  boat  of  a  strange  construction,  in  which  a  man,  envel- 
oped in  a  covering,  was  sleeping.  I  went  into  the  boat, 
awoke  the  man,  and  pointed  to  the  tower ;  but  he  did  not 
understand  me.  I  then  showed  him  one  of  the  large 
Saxony  crowns,  which  are  of  the  value  of  six  francs 
each.  He  understood  me  immediately  ;  and  a  few  minutes 
afterwards,  without  exchanging  a  word,  we,  spectre-like, 
were  clidinfr  towards  Mausethurm. 

When  in  the  middle  of  the  flood,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
the  tower  diminished  in  size  instead  of  increasing. 


224  THE   RHINE. 

It  was  the  Ehiue  which  made  it  appear  less.  As  I 
had  taken  the  boat  at  a  place  which  was  higher  up  than 
Mausethurm,  we  descended  the  river,  advancing  rapidly. 
My  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  tower,  from  the  summit  of 
which  the  vague  light  was  still  issuing,  and  which,  at 
each  stroke  of  the  oar,  I  saw  distinctly  increasing.  Sud- 
denly I  felt  the  bark  sinking  under  me,  as  if  we  were  in 
a  whirlpool,  and  the  jerk  caused  my  stick  to  roll  at  my 
feet.  I  looked  at  my  companion,  who,  returning  my  gaze 
with  a  sinister  smile  which,  seen  by  the  supernatural 
light  of  Mausethurm,  had  something  frightful  in  it,  said, 
"  Bingerloch."  We  were  upon  the  gulf.  The  boat  turned. 
The  man  rose,  seized  the  anchor  with  one  hand  and  a 
cord  with  the  other,  plunged  the  former  into  the  surge, 
leaped  on  the  gunwale,  and  began  to  walk  upon  it.  This 
manoeuvre  was  accomplished  with  admirable  dexterity 
and  marvellous  sang-froid. 

We  landed.  I  raised  my  eyes.  A  short  distance  from 
where  I  stood,  on  a  little  island  not  observable  from  the 
land,  was  Mausethurm,  —  an  enormous  formidable  castle, 
dilapidated  and  in  fragments,  as  if  gnawed  by  the  fright- 
ful rats  of  the  legend. 

The  faint  light  that  I  observed  was  a  red  flame,  which 
shed  rays  along  the  mountains,  giving  to  every  crevice 
the  appearance  of  the  mouth  of  an  enormous  lantern.  It 
also  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  heard  in  that  fatal  edifice  a 
strange,  continued  noise,  —  a  sort  of  gnawing  sound. 

I  looked  at  the  waterman,  told  him  to  wait  my  return, 
and  walked  towards  the  ruin. 

It  was  truly  the  tower  of  Hatto,  —  the  place  of  rats. 
Mausethurm  was  before  my  eyes,  and  I  was  about  to 


MAUSETHURM.  225 

enter.  In  directing  my  steps  towards  a  low  door  in  the 
fa(;ade,  through  which  the  wind  from  the  river  was 
whistling,  I  was  startled  by  some  black  living  creature 
which  ran  rapidly  by  my  feet.  It  appeared  to  me  to  be 
a  huge  rat  running  towards  the  reeds.  On  reaching  the 
door,  I  ventured  to  look  into  the  room  from  which  the 
strange  gnawing  sound  and  the  extraordinary  glare  of 
light  still  came,     I  will  tell  you  what  I  saw. 

In  an  angle  opposite  the  door  were  two  men  with 
their  backs  turned  to  me.  One  was  in  a  stooping  pos- 
ture, and  the  other  seated  upon  a  kind  of  iron  vise, 
which  a  person  of  discernment  might  have  taken  for  an 
instrument  of  torture.  Their  feet  and  arms  were  naked, 
their  clothes  tattered,  and  each  wore  a  leathern  apron. 
One  was  old,  —  his  grey  hair  testified  it ;  the  other  was 
young,  —  I  saw  his  fair  locks,  which,  from  the  reflection 
of  a  large  lighted  furnace  in  the  opposite  angle,  appeared 
red.  The  old  man  wore,  like  the  Guelphs,  his  cowl  in- 
clined to  the  right ;  and  the  young  one,  like  the  Ghibellines, 
had  his  upon  the  left  side.  But  they  were  neither  Ghibel- 
lines nor  Guelphs,  demons  nor  spectres.  Two  blacksmiths 
were  before  me.  The  light  —  the  soul  of  Hatto,  changed 
by  hell  into  a  living  flame  —  was  the  fire  and  smoke  of 
the  chimney ;  the  gnawing  sound,  the  sound  of  files. 

The  two  blacksmiths  were  worthy  individuals.  They 
showed  me  the  ruins,  pointed  out  the  place  in  which 
Hatto  had  taken  shelter,  and  then  lent  me  a  lantern, 
with  which  I  ranged  through  the  whole  of  the  little 
island. 

It  is  a  long  and  narrow  tongue  of  land,  on  which  the 

VOL.    XXVIl.  —  15 


226  THE   RHINE. 

Euphorbia  officinalis  grows  everywhere,  encircled  by  a 
belt  of  reeds  and  flags.  Every  moment  your  feet  knocks 
against  little  mounds,  or  sinks  into  subterranean  galle- 
ries.    Moles  have  taken  the  place  of  rats. 

The  Rhine  has  laid  bare  the  eastern  point  of  the  islet, 
which  struggles  like  a  prow  against  its  current.  It  has 
neither  earth  nor  vegetation,  —  only  a  rose-coloured  mar- 
ble rock,  which,  in  the  glare  of  the  lantern,  seemed  veined 
with  blood. 

It  is  on  such  marble  that  the  tower  is  built.  The 
Rats'  Tower  is  square.  The  turret  —  the  interior  of 
which  was  pointed  out  by  the  smiths  —  bulges  out  in  a 
picturesque  fashion  on  the  side  looking  towards  the 
Rhine.  Its  long  and  slender  pentagonal  shape,  and  the 
base  upon  which  it  rests,  indicate  a  structure  of  the  elev- 
enth century.  The  base  of  the  turret  is  the  part  the 
rats  seem  to  have  gnawed  most  industriously.  The  ap- 
ertures of  the  tower  have  so  entirely  lost  their  form 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  conclude  on  any  date  from 
an  examination  of  them.  The  stone  facings,  scarred  in 
every  direction,  give  a  leprous  appearance  to  the  exte- 
rior walls.  The  formless  stones  that  were  once  battle- 
ments have  the  fiejure  of  a  walrus's  teeth  or  a  mastodon's 
bones  inserted  in  the  building. 

Above  the  turret,  from  the  end  of  a  long  pole,  floats  a 
wretched  black  and  white  rag,  torn  by  the  wind.  I  dis- 
covered at  first  a  certain  indescribable  harmony  between 
the  ruined  structure  and  the  dismal  tatter.  It  was,  how- 
ever, simply  the  Prussian  flag. 

Then  I  remembered  that  the  domains  of  the  Grand 


MAUSETHURM.  227 

Duke  of  Hesse  end  at  Bingen,     Rhenish  Prussia  begins 
there. 

Do  not  take  what  I  have  said  of  the  flag  of  Prussia  in 
bad  part,  I  beg  of  you.  I  am  speaking  of  the  effect  pro- 
duced, —  nothing  more.  All  flags  are  glorious.  He  who 
loves  the  flag  of  Napoleon  will  never  insult  the  flag  of 
Frederick. 

After  seeing  everything,  and  plucking  a  sprig  of  E%i- 
jphorbia,  I  left  the  Mausethurm.  My  boatman  had  fallen 
asleep.  At  the  moment  he  took  hold  of  his  oar  and 
pushed  the  boat  from  the  islet,  the  two  smiths  returned 
to  the  anvil,  and  I  heard  the  hissing  of  the  bar  of  red 
iron  they  were  plunging  in  the  water. 

Now,  what  shall  I  tell  you  ?  That  half  an  hour  after 
I  was  at  Bingen  ;  that  I  was  very  hungy ;  and  that  after 
my  supper,  although  very  tired,  and  it  was  very  late,  and 
the  worthy  burghers  were  all  asleep,  I  climbed  the  Klopp, 
—  an  old  ruined  castle  that  towers  above  the  Ehine.  The 
prudent  disposal  of  a  thaler  enabled  me  to  do  this. 

There  I  enjoyed  a  spectacle  worthy  of  closing  a  day 
during  which  I  had  seen  so  many  things  and  come  in 
contact  with  so  many  ideas.  It  was  the  dead  of  night. 
Beneath  me  lay  a  mass  of  dark  houses  like  a  lake  of 
blackness.  In  the  whole  city  there  were  only  seven 
windows  lit ;  and  they,  like  seven  red  stars,  were  a  faith- 
ful reproduction  of  the  Great  Bear,  which  was  sparkling 
at  that  very  moment,  pure  and  white,  in  the  depths  of 
the  heavens,  so  that  the  majestic  constellation,  millions, 
of  miles  above  our  heads,  seemed  to  be  reflected  beneath 
my  feet  in  a  mirror  of  jet. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

LEGEND   OF   THE   HANDSOME   PECOPIN   AND   THE 
BEAUTIFUL   BAULDOUR. 

The  Hunter  and  the  Spinner.  —  The  Planet  Venus  and  the  Bird  Phoe- 
nix. —  The  Difference  between  the  Ear  of  a  Young  Man  and  that  of 
an  Old  One.  —  The  Qualities  Essential  to  Different  Embassies.  — 
Happy  Effect  of  a  Good  Thought.  —  The  Devil  is  Wrong  in  being  a 
Gourmand.  —  Amiable  Proposition  of  an  Old  Sage.  —  The  Wandering 
Christian.  —  The  Danger  to  which  we  expose  ourselves  by  getting  on 
a  Strange  Horse.  —  The  Return.  —  Bauldour. 

I  PROMISED  to  relate  one  of  the  legends  of  Falken- 
burg,  perhaps  the  most  interesting,  —  that  of  the 
grave  adventure  of  Guntram  and  Liba ;  but  after  reflec- 
tion, I  think  it  would  be  useless  to  do  so,  as  you  will  find 
it  in  almost  any  collection,  written  in  a  spirit  far  more 
enlivening  than  I  could  tell  it.  However,  I  will  record 
one  which  will  be  found  nowhere  else.  You  may  thank 
the  old  French  soldier  for  it.  This  follower  of  the 
republican  army  believes,  at  present,  in  gnomes  and 
fairies,  as  devotedly  as  he  formerly  credited  the  puissance 
of  the  emperor.  Solitude  has  always  this  effect  upon 
the  mind ;  it  develops  the  poetry  which  is  inherent  in 
man,  and  makes  him  a  believer  in  the  wonderful  and 
supernatural. 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  229 


PART  I. 

The  Hunter  and  the  Spinner.  —  The  handsome  Pecopin 
loved  the  beautiful  Bauldour,  and  the  lovely  Bauldour  was 
enamoured  of  the  gay  Pecopin,  He  possessed  all  the  quali- 
ties of  a  lord  and  of  a  man  ;  and  she  was  a  queen  when  at 
home,  a  holy  virgin  at  church,  a  nymph  in  the  woods, 
and  a  fairy  at  work, 

Pecopin  was  an  excellent  hunter,  and  Bauldour  was  a 
good  spinner.  When  he  was  absent,  the  distaff  amused 
and  consoled  her;  and  when  the  sound  of  the  horn, 
mingling  with  the  noise  of  the  hounds,  would  strike  her 
ear,  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  the  words, 
"  Think  of  thy  lover,"  Besides,  the  wheel,  which  caused 
the  helle  reveuse  to  stoop,  was  ever  saying  in  a  soft  and 
small  voice,   "  Think  of  him." 

When  the  husband  and  lover  are  united  in  one  person, 
all  goes  well.  Marry,  then,  the  spinner  to  the  hunter, 
and  fear  nothing. 

However,  I  must  say  that  Pecopin  was  too  fond  of 
hunting.  When  he  was  on  horseback,  the  falcon  rest- 
ing on  his  hand,  or  when  he  was  following  the  stag,  he 
forgot  everything.  Whoever  loves  horses  and  dogs  too 
much  displeases  woman  ;  and  he  who  loves  woman  too 
much  displeases  God.  Govern,  therefore,  your  tastes, 
and  bridle  your  inclinations. 

When  Bauldour,  that  noble  and  lovely  young  girl, 
that  star  of  love,  of  youth,  and  of  beauty,  saw  Pecopin 
caressing  his  dog,  a  huge  animal,  with  large  nostrils, 
long  ears,  and  a  black  mouth,  she  was  jealous  of  it.     She 


230  THE  KHINE. 

entered  her  room  disconcerted  and  sad,  and  there  wept. 
Then  she  scolded  her  servants,  and  after  them  her  dwarf. 
"Woman's  anger  is  like  rain  in  a  forest,  —  it  falls  twice. 
Bis  pluit. 

In  the  evening  Pecopin,  blackened  with  powder  and 
weary  with  fatigue,  returned  to  Bauldour,  who  pouted 
and  murmured,  with  a  tear  in  the  corner  of  her  large 
black  eye.  Pecopin  pressed  her  little  hand,  and  she 
ceased  murmuring ;  then  he  kissed  her  rosy  lips,  and 
she  smiled.  She  never  suffered  the  chevalier  to  take  her 
by  the  waist.  One  evening  he  slightly  pressed  her  elbow, 
and  her  face  coloured  up  with  blushes  and  offended  pride. 
She  was  betrothed  and  not  married.  Modesty  in  woman 
is  what  bravery  is  in  man. 


PART  II. 

The  Bird  Phoenix  and  Venus.  —  Pecopin  had  in  his 
hall  at  Sonnech  a  large  gilt  painting  which  represented 
the  nine  heavens,  each  with  its  appropriate  colour  and 
name  affixed  to  it,  —  Saturn,  leaden  colour  ;  Jupiter,  clear 
and  brilliant ;  Venus,  the  east  on  fire ;  Mercury,  spark- 
ling ;  the  Moon,  with  its  silvery  appearance ;  the  Sun, 
shining  flames.  Pecopin  erased  the  word  "  Venus,"  and 
substituted  "  Bauldour." 

The  fair  demoiselle  had  in  her  room  a  large  tapestry, 
on  which  was  an  immense  bird,  the  size  of  an  eagle,  with 
a  golden  neck  and  a  blue  tail.  Above  this  marvellous 
animal  was  written  the  Greek  word  "  Phoenix."  Baul- 
dour effaced  it,  and  substituted  "Pecopin." 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  231 

The  day  fixed  for  the  nuptials  drew  near.  Pecopin 
was  full  of  joy,  and  Bauldour  was  happy. 

A  week  before  the  appointed  day  of  marriage,  Baul- 
dour was  busily  spinning  at  her  window.  Her  dwarf 
came  to  tell  her  that  Pecopin  was  coming  upstairs,  at 
which  intelligence  she  rose  hurriedly  to  run  to  her 
betrothed,  but  her  foot  got  entangled  with  the  thread, 
and  she  fell.  Poor  Bauldour  rose ;  she  was  not  hurt, 
but  remembering  that  a  similar  accident  happened  at  the 
castle  to  Liba,  she  felt  sad  at  heart.  Pecopin  entered 
beaming  with  joy,  spoke  of  their  marriage  and  of  their 
happiness,  and  the  cloud  that  hovered  round  her  soul 
vanished. 

PART  III. 

The  Difference  between  the  Ear  of  a  Young  Man  and 
that  of  an  Old  One.  —  Next  day  Bauldour  was  spin- 
ning in  her  chamber,  and  Pecopin  was  hunting  in  the 
woods.  He  had  no  companion  but  his  dog.  In  fol- 
lowing the  chase,  he  came  to  the  forest  of  Sonn,  where 
there  are  four  large  trees,  —  an  ash,  an  elm,  a  fir,  and  an 
oak,  —  which  are  called  by  the  people  "  The  Evangelists." 
As  Pecopin  passed  under  the  shade,  four  birds  were 
perched  upon  the  trees,  —  a  daw  upon  the  ash,  a  black- 
bird upon  the  elm,  a  magpie  upon  the  fir,  and  a  crow  upon 
the  oak.  These  feathered  creatures  made  a  strange,  con- 
fused noise,  and  seemed  as  if  they  were  interrogating 
each  other.  A  few  steps  farther  on,  an  old  man  was 
seated  on  the  stump  of  a  tree  ;  and  as  Pecopin  passed  he 
turned  round  and  said,  — 


232  THE  RHINE. 

"  Sir  Chevalier,  do  you  know  what  the  birds  are  say- 
ing  ? » 

"  My  good  fellow,"  Pecopin  replied,  "  what  does  it 
matter  to  me  ? " 

"  Sir,"  said  the  peasant,  "  for  the  young  the  blackbird 
whistles,  the  magpie  chatters,  and  the  raven  croaks ;  for 
the  old,  the  birds  speak." 

The  chevalier  burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter,  saying, 
"  Pardieu !  you  're  raving." 

"  You  are  wrong.  Sir  Pecopin,"  said  the  old  man, 
gravely. 

"  You  never  saw  me  before ;  how  is  it  that  you  know 
my  name  ? " 

"  From  the  birds,"  replied  the  peasant. 

"  You  are  an  old  fool,  my  worthy  fellow,"  said  Pecopin, 
continuing  his  route. 

About  an  hour  afterwards  Pecopin  heard  the  sound  of 
a  horn,  and  then  perceived  the  Count  Palatine  and  his 
suite,  who  were  out  on  a  hunting  excursion. 

"  Holloa ! "  one  of  them  cried  out  on  seeing  Pecopin ; 
"  my  brave  hunter,  won't  you  accompany  us  ? "  He 
consented,  and  conducted  himself  so  marvellously,  by 
killing  the  different  animals  they  pursued,  that  the  count 
gave  him  a  fief  of  Ehineck,  enrolled  him  amongst  his 
followers,  and  prevailed  upon  him  to  go  to  Stahleck,  to 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance.  Pecopin  sent  a  message 
to  Bauldour,  announcing  the  intention  of  the  ffalzgraf. 
"  Be  not  uneasy,  my  beloved,"  he  added ;  "  I  will  be  with 
you  next  month."  The  messenger  set  out,  and  Pecopin 
retired  with  the  prince  and  his  followers  to  the  castle  at 
Bacharach. 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  233 


PART  IV. 

The  Qualities  Essential  to  Different  Embassies.  — Pecopin 
was  a  nobleman  by  blood,  by  nature,  and  by  outward 
appearance,  and  pleased  the  pfalzgraf  so  much  that 
this  prince  one  day  said  to  him,  "  My  friend,  I  have 
an  embassy  for  my  cousin  of  Bourgogne,  and  your  noble 
appearance  and  gallant  behaviour  have  induced  me  to 
make  you  my  ambassador." 

Pecopin  obeyed  the  wishes  of  his  prince,  and  went  to 
Dijon,  where  the  duke  received  him  kindly;  and  he 
was  soon  after,  on  account  of  his  rank,  sent  on  an  em- 
bassy to  the  King  of  Prance.  One  day  the  king  said, 
"  Pecopin,  I  require  a  gentleman  to  go  to  Spain  on 
urgent  business ;  but  finding  none  of  my  followers  capa- 
ble of  undertaking  such  a  task,  I  have  fixed  upon  you, 
on  account  of  your  mien  and  mind."  Pecopin  again  set 
out ;  and  when  the  negotiation  was  terminated  he  went 
to  the  sultan  to  take  his  leave. 

•''  I  receive  your  adieus  with  pleasure,  for  you  must  set 
out  immediately  for  Bagdad." 

"  For  Bagdad  ! "  Pecopin  replied  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  chevalier,"  replied  the  Moorish  prince,  "  for  I 
cannot  sign  the  treaty  with  the  King  of  France  without 
the  consent  of  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad." 

Pecopin  went  to  Bagdad,  where  a  strange  adventure 
happened  to  him.  One  day,  while  passing  the  walls  of 
the  seraglio,  the  sultan's  favourite  perceived  him;  and 
as  he  was  handsome,  bold,  and  of  a  haughty  air,  she 
conceived  a  passion  for  him  and  sent  a  black  slave  to 
speak  to  him. 


234  THE  KHINE. 

"  This  talisman,"  she  said,  "  is  the  gift  of  a  princess 
who  loves  you,  but  who  will  never  see  you  more.  Take 
care  of  it,  for  as  long  as  you  wear  it  you  will  never  be 
old  ;  when  you  are  in  dangers,  touch  it  and  you  will  be 
saved."  Pecopin  accepted  the  talisman,  and  attached 
it  to  his  neck -chain.  "  Now,"  the  slave  added,  "  do  not 
lose  it,  for  whilst  you  have  it  in  your  possession  you  will 
always  have  the  same  youthful  appearance ;  but  when 
you  lose  it,  the  infirmities  of  every  year  which  has  passed 
over  your  head  will  instantly  attack  you.  Adieu,  hand- 
some giaour."     Having  said  this  the  negress  left  him. 

The  caliph  had  observed  his  favourite's  slave  speaking 
with  Pecopin,  and  was  fired  with  jealousy.  He  invited 
the  stranger  to  a  feast,  and  at  night  conducted  him  to 
the  summit  of  a  high  tower.  Pecopin,  without  suspicion, 
advanced  near  the  parapet,  which  was  very  low,  when 
the  caliph  addressed  him  in  these  words :  — 

"Chevalier,  the  Count  Palatine  sent  you  to  the 
Duke  of  Bourgogne  on  account  of  your  renown ;  the 
Duke  of  Bourgogne  sent  you  to  the  King  of  France 
because  you  were  of  a  noble  race ;  the  King  of  France 
sent  you  to  the  Sovereign  of  Grenada  on  account  of  your 
wit ;  and  he  sent  you  to  the  Caliph  of  Bagdad  because 
you  were  dignified  in  appearance.  As  for  me,  on  account 
of  thy  fame,  thy  rank,  thy  wit,  and  thy  fine  appearance, 
I  send  thee  to  the  devil." 

On  pronouncing  the  last  word,  the  caliph  pushed 
Pecopin  over  the  parapet. 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  235 

PAKT  V. 

nappy  Effect  of  a  Good  Thought. — "When  a  man  falls 
from  a  height,  terrible  ideas  Hash  across  his  brain,  — 
life  which  he  is  going  to  leave,  and  the  regions  of 
death  which  he  is  about  to  enter.  In  that  awful 
moment  Pecopin  thought  of  Bauldour,  put  his  hand  to 
his  heart,  and,  without  knowing,  touched  the  talisman. 
No  sooner  had  his  finger  come  in  contact  with  the  magic 
stone  than  he  felt  as  if  he  were  supported  by  wings. 
He  no  longer  fell,  he  flew ;  and  he  continued  to  do  so  all 
night.  Just  as  day  was  breaking,  the  invisible  hand  that 
supported  him  placed  him  gently  upon  the  sea-shore. 

PAKT   VI. 

Tlie  Devil  is  Wrong  in  being  a  Gourmand.  —  At  this 
time  a  singular  and  disagreeable  adventure  happened 
to  the  devil.  It  was  customary  for  Asmodeus  to  go 
about  picking  up  all  the  souls  that  belonged  to  him,  put- 
ting them  into  a  bag  and  carrying  them  away  upon  his 
back.  One  day,  being  more  fortunate  than  usual,  he  was 
filling  his  sack  gaily,  when,  turning  round,  he  beheld  an 
angel,  who  was  smiling  at  him.  The  devil  shook  up 
the  bag,  and  continued  filling  for  some  time.  At  last  he 
stopped,  and  seized  hold  of  it  to  swing  it  over  his  shoulder; 
but  the  souls  that  he  had  crammed  into  it  were  so  num- 
erous, and  the  iniquities  with  which  they  were  burdened 
weighed  so  heavily,  that  he  could  not  move  it.  He  took 
both  his  hands,  and  made  a  second  attempt,  which  proved 
as  futile  as   the   first.     "  0    souls  of   lead ! "   the   devil 


236  THE  RHINE. 

exclaimed,  and  then  he  began  swearing.  Again  he  looked 
up,  and  he  saw  the  angel  laughing  at  him. 

"  What  are  you  doing  there  ? "  cried  the  demon. 

"You  see  well  enough.  I  was  smiling  a  short  time 
ago ;  now  I  am  laughing." 

"  Oh,  celestial  fowl !  huge  innocent!  begone!"  Asmodeus 
cried. 

The  angel  looked  at  him  gravely,  and  said,  — 

"  Hear  me,  dragon ;  thou  wilt  not  be  able  to  carry 
away  that  load  of  souls  till  a  saint  from  paradise  or  a 
Christian  from  heaven  falls  upon  the  earth  and  helps 
thee  to  put  it  on  thy  shoulders."  That  said,  the  angel 
opened  his  wings  and  flew  away. 

The  devil  was  verv  much  disconcerted.  "  What  does 
that  imbecile  mean  ? "  he  muttered  between  his  teeth. 
"  A  saint  from  paradise  or  a  Christian  from  heaven  !  I 
shall  be  forced  to  remain  a  long  time  if  I  wait  the  coming 
of  such  assistance.  How,  in  the  name  of  all  the  saints, 
did  I  so  cram  my  sack !  " 

As  the  devil  stood  by  the  side  of  his  heavy  burden, 
heaping  imprecations  upon  himself  for  his  own  stupidity, 
he  cast  his  eyes  upwards,  and  perceived  a  black  speck  in 
the  heavens,  which  every  moment  became  larger  and 
larger.  The  devil  put  his  hands  on  his  knees  to  take  a 
better  view  of  it,  and  discovered  that  it  was  a  man, —  an 
armed  Christian,  bearing  a  cross  upon  his  breast,  falling 
from  the  clouds. 

"  What  is  it  to  me  who  sends  him  ? "  exclaimed  the 
devil,  jumping  with  joy.  "  I  am  saved !  I  could  not  get 
around  four  saints  a  short  time  ago,  who  laughed  at  the 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  237 

pitiful  tale  that  I  told  them  ;  but  it  will  be  easy  for  me  to 
manage  this  fellow." 

Pecopin,  on  finding  himself  on  terra  firma,  looked 
round,  and  on  perceiving  the  old  man,  who  was  like  a 
slave  resting  by  the  side  of  his  load,  he  accosted  him 
thus  :  "  Who  are  you,  friend  ;  and,  pray,  where  am  I  ? " 

The  devil  whined  out  piteously,  — 

"  You,  sir,  are  on  the  borders  of  the  Eed  Sea,  and  I  am 
the  most  wretched  of  all  miserable  beings.  I  have  a 
very  cruel  master,  who  has  taken  it  into  his  head  to  build 
a  mountain,  and  he  obliges  me,  an  old  man,  to  carry 
loads  of  sand  from  the  borders  of  the  sea.  I  begin  at  the 
break  of  day,  and  never  leave  off  before  sunset.  Yester- 
day I  was  returning  with  my  sixth  load,  when  fatigue 
overcame  me.  I  thought  I  would  rest  myself,  and  after- 
wards found  that  I  had  not  strength  to  lift  the  load  on 
my  shoulders,  and  therefore  was  obliged  to  remain  here 
all  night,  looking  at  my  burden,  and  cursing  my  master 
for  his  cruelty.  My  good  sir,  for  pity's  sake  help  me 
with  this  load,  that  I  may  return  to  my  master.  I  am 
sure  he  will  kill  me." 

Pecopin  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  Good  man,  your  story 
is  an  unlikely  one." 

"  My  dear  sir,"  the  devil  replied,  "  what  has  hap- 
pened to  you,  if  told,  would  be  as  unlikely ;  yet  it  is 
true.  Then,"  he  continued,  "  what  harm  would  it  do  to 
you  to  help  an  infirm  old  man  to  place  his  load 
upon  his  back  ? " 

This  was  a  just  question.  Pecopin  stooped,  seized  the 
bag,  and  was  placing  it  on  the  back  of  the  old  man,  who 


238  THE   RHINE. 

was  leaning  forward  to  receive  the  load,  when  the  devil, 
who  is  vicious  (it  was  for  vice  that  he  fell)  and  who  is 
greedy  (which  passion  often  causes  the  loss  of  all),  was 
struck  with  the  idea  of  adding  his  soul  to  the  others ;  but 
first  of  all  he  must  kill  Pecopin. 

The  devil  began  to  speak  to  some  invisible  spirit  in  a 
kind  of  jargon,  half  Italian,  half  Spanish,  which  Pecopin 
fortunately  understood :  "  Bamus,  non  ciera  occhi,  ver- 
bera,  frappa,  y  echa  la  piedra." 

Suspicion  flashed  like  lightning  across  the  mind  of 
Pecopin ;  he  raised  his  eyes,  and  saw  above  his  head  an 
enormous  stone  that  some  invisible  hand  held  suspended 
in  the  air. 

He  stepped  backwards,  touched  his  talisman  with  his 
left  hand,  seized  his  poniard  with  his  right,  and  plunged 
it  violently  into  the  bag.  The  devil  cried  hideously, 
and  the  souls,  profiting  by  the  hole  which  Pecopin  had 
made,  flew  away,  leaving  behind  them  their  dark  deeds 
and  crimes,  which,  by  their  natural  attraction  to  the 
demon,  fixed  upon  his  back ;  thus  it  is  that  the  devil  is 
always  represented  with  a  hump. 

At  the  moment  that  Pecopin  stepped  backwards,  the 
invisible  giant  dropped  the  stone,  which  fell  upon  the 
foot  of  the  devil  and  crushed  it ;  and  from  that  day 
Asmodeus  has  always  been  club-footed. 

The  devil,  like  Jove,  has  thunder  at  his  command ; 
but  it  is  of  a  more  frightful  nature,  coming  from  the 
earth  and  uprooting  trees.  Pecopin  felt  the  ground 
tremble  beneath  him ;  a  dense  cloud  rose  around,  and  a 
noise  met  his  ear.     It  seemed  to  him  that  he  fell,  and 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  239 

rolled  along  the  earth  like  a  withered  leaf  when  blown 
by  the  wind.     He  fainted. 

PAET  VII. 

Amiahle  Proposition  of  an  Old  Sage.  —  When  Peco- 
pin  recovered  he  heard  a  soft  voice,  saying,  "  Phi  sma," 
which  is  Arabian,  and  signifies,  "  He  is  in  heaven." 
Another  person  placed  his  hand  upon  his  chest,  and  re- 
plied, "  Lo,  lo,  machi  mouth,"  which  means,  "  No,  no,  he 
is  not  dead."  Pecopin  opened  his  eyes  and  saw  an  old 
man  and  a  young  girl  kneeling  by  his  side.  The  coun- 
tenance of  the  former  was  as  dark  as  night;  he  had  a 
long  white  beard,  and  was  enveloped  in  a  scarf  of  green 
silk.  The  young  girl  was  of  a  copper  colour,  had  large 
hazel  eyes,  lips  of  coral,  and  gold  rings  hanging  from  her 
nose  and  ears ;  she  was  exceedingly  handsome. 

Pecopin  was  no  longer  by  the  sea-side.  The  blast  of 
hell  had  borne  him  into  a  valley  filled  with  rocks  and 
trees  of  a  strange  form.  He  rose.  The  old  man  and  the 
handsome  girl  looked  at  him  affectionately.  He  ap- 
proached one  of  the  trees ;  the  leaves  contracted,  the 
branches  receded,  and  the  flowers,  which  were  white, 
became  red.  Pecopin  recognized  the  mimosa,  or  "  tree  of 
shame,"  and  concluded  that  he  had  left  India,  and  was 
now  in  the  famed  country  of  Pudiferan. 

The  old  man  beckoned  to  Pecopin  to  follow,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  all  three  were  seated  upon  a  mat  in  a  cabin 
built  of  palm-leaves,  the  interior  of  which  was  filled  with 
precious  stones  that  shone  like  a  heated  furnace.  The 
old  man  looked  at  Pecopin,  and  said  in  German,  — 


240  THE   RHINE. 

"  My  son,  I  am  the  man  who  knows  everything,  —  the 
great  Ethiopian  lapidary,  the  taleb  of  the  Arabs.  I  am 
the  first  that  ever  penetrated  this  desert;  thou  art  the 
second.  I  have  passed  my  life  in  gleaning  from  Nature 
the  science  of  things,  and  filling  them  with  the  science 
of  the  soul.  Thanks  to  me  and  to  my  lessons ;  thanks 
to  the  rays  which,  in  this  valley  of  animate  stone,  of 
thinking  plants,  and  of  wise  animals,  have  fallen  for  a 
hundred  years  from  my  eyeballs  !  It  was  I  who  pointed 
out  to  beasts  their  true  medicine,  of  which  man  stands  so 
much  in  need.  Till  now  I  have  only  had  beasts  for  dis- 
ciples, but  have  long  wished  for  a  man.  Thou  art  come ; 
then  be  my  son.  I  am  old.  I  will  leave  thee  my  cabin, 
my  precious  stones,  my  valley,  and  my  science.  Thou 
shalt  marry  my  daughter,  who  is  called  Aissab,  and  who 
is  good  and  beautiful.  We  shall  pass  our  days  happily 
in  picking  up  diamonds  and  eating  the  roots  of  plants. 
Be  my  son." 

"  Thanks,  my  venerable  seignor ! "  Pecopin  said.  "  I 
accept  with  joy  your  kind  offer," 

When  night  came  he  made  his  escape. 

PART   VIII. 

Tlic  Wandering  Christian.  —  To  tell  all  the  adventures 
of  Pecopin  would  be  to  relate  his  journey  around  the 
world.  At  one  time  he  was  walking  with  naked  feet  on 
the  sea-shore ;  at  another,  in  sandals,  climbing  a  moun- 
tain, now  riding  upon  an  ass,  afterwards  seated  on  a 
zebra  or  an  elephant.  He  lost  in  the  desert,  like  Jerome 
Costilla,  four  of  his  toes ;  and,  like  Mendez  Pinto,  was 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  241 

sold  twenty  times.  He  clambered  up  mountains  whose 
summits  were  hidden  in  the  clouds,  and  on  approaching 
their  tops  vomited  blood  and  phlegm.  He  came  to  that 
island  which  no  one  when  seeking  can  find,  and  to  which 
chance  only  can  bring  one.  In  Scythia  he  killed  a  griffin 
which  the  people  had  long  been  endeavouring  to  destroy, 
in  order  to  possess  the  gold  guarded  by  that  animal ;  for 
which  act  they  .wished  to  make  him  their  king,  but  he 
declined  their  offer.  Amidst  all  his  adventures,  all  his 
daring  deeds,  his  miseries  and  troubles,  the  brave  and 
faithful  Pecopin  had  only  one  end  in  view,  —  to  find 
Germany,  to  enter  Falkenburg,  with  the  hope  of  seeing 
Bauldour. 

He  counted  with  a  sad  heart  the  days  as  they  passed, 
and  on  reaching  the  north  of  France,  found  that  five 
years  had  elapsed  since  he  had  seen  Bauldour.  He  sat 
down  upon  a  stone  by  the  roadside ;  his  thoughts  wan- 
dered to  his  beloved ;  something  fell  upon  his  hand ;  he 
started,  —  it  was  a  tear  that  had  dropped  from  his  cheek. 

"  Five  years,"  he  thought,  "  is  a  long  time ;  but  I  will 
see  her  now."  Then,  though  his  feet  were  lacerated  with 
the  stones,  and  his  clothes  torn,  he  proceeded  with  a  light 
heart  on  his  journey. 

After  travelling  all  day  among  rocks,  trying  to  discover 
a  passage  which  decended  to  the  Ehine,  he  arrived  at  a 
wood,  which  without  hesitation  he  entered  ;  and  after 
walking  for  upwards  of  an  hour,  found  himself  near  a 
ditch.  Tired,  and  dying  of  hunger  and  thirst,  he  sank 
down  upon  the  grass,  lifted  his  eyes  upwards,  and 
perceived  a  flock  of  sheldrakes  soaring  above  him. 

VOL.  XXVII. 16 


242  THE   RHINE. 

In  agony  of  soul,  he  was  asking  himself  where  he  was, 
when  the  sound  of  some  one  singing  in  the  distance 
floated  on  the  evening  breeze.  Pecopin  raised  himself 
on  his  elbow,  listened  attentively,  and  distinguished 
these  words  :  — 

Mon  petit  lac  engendre,  en  I'ombre  qui  I'abrite, 
La  riante  Amphitrite  et  le  noir  Neptunus ; 
Mon  humble  etang  nourrit,  sur  des  monts  inconnus, 
L'empereur  Neptunus  et  la  reine  Amphitrite, 

Je  suis  le  nain,  grand -pere  des  geants. 

Ma  goutte  d'eau  produit  deux  oceans. 

Je  verse  de  mes  rocs,  que  n'efQeure  aucun  aile, 
Un  fleuve  bien  pour  elle,  un  fleuve  vert  pour  lui, 
J'epanche  de  ma  grotte,  ou  jamais  feu  n'a  lui, 
Le  fleuve  vert  pour  lui,  le  fleuve  bleu  pour  elle. 

Je  suis  le  nain,  grand-pere  des  geants. 

Ma  goutte  d'eau  produit  deux  oceans. 

Une  fine  emeraude  est  dans  mon  sable  jaune. 
Un  pur  saphir  se  cache  en  mon  humide  ecrin. 
Mon  emeraude  fond  et  devient  le  beau  Rhin  ; 
Mon  saphir  se  dissout,  ruisselle  et  fait  le  Rhone. 

Je  suis  le  nain,  grand-pere  des  geants. 

Ma  goutte  d'eau  produit  deux  oceans. 

Pecopin  could  no  longer  doubt  the  sad  conviction  that 
crossed  his  mind.  Poor,  hungry,  and  fatigued  traveller  ! 
he  was  in  the  fatal  Wood  of  the  Lost  Path,  which  is  full 
of  labyrinths,  and  where  the  dwarf  Ptoulon  is  ever  seen 
deceiving  the  traveller,  who,  if  once  within  the  wood 
is  never  known  to  leave   it. 

The  voice  was  that  of  Roulon ;  the  song  was  that  of 
the  wicked  dwarf  of  the  Bois  des  Pas  Perdus. 


I 
1 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  243 

Pecopin,  in  despair,  threw  himself  on  the  ground, 
crying,  "Alas  !  all  is  over.  I  shall  never  more  behold 
Bauldour." 

"  You  are  wrong,  if  you  serve  me,"  said  some  one  from 
behind. 

Pecopin  looked  up,  and  beheld  an  old  gentleman 
equipped  for  the  chase.  It  was  not  the  dwarf  Eoulon, 
which  circumstance  made  his  heart  leap  with  joy. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me  ? "  Pecopin  demanded. 

"To  take  thee  to  Bauldour,"  replied  the  old  man, 
smiling. 

"  When  ? " 

"  After  you  have  spent  a  night  in  the  chase." 

"  But  I  am  dying  with  hunger,"  Pecopin  replied.  "  I 
am  not  able  to  get  on  horseback." 

The  old  gentleman  took  a  bottle  from  his  pocket  and 
presented  it  to  Pecopin,  who  no  sooner  swallowed  two  or 
three  mouthfuls  than  he  felt  invigourated,  and  cried,  — 

"  To  the  chase  with  all  my  heart.  But  shall  I  really 
see  Bauldour  to-morrow  ?  " 

"Before  the  sun  rises  you  shall  be  at  the  gates  of 
Falkenburg." 

"Holloa,  gentlemen!  holloa!"  the  old  man  cried.  "To 
the  chase  ! " 

On  turning  round,  Pecopin  perceived  that  his  com- 
panion was  humpbacked ;  and  when  he  walked,  he 
discovered  that  he  was  club-footed. 

At  the  call  of  the  old  man  a  host  of  gentlemen,  clothed 
like  princes,  and  mounted  like  kings,  came  from  a 
thicket,  and  ranged  themselves  round  him.     He  seemed 


244  THE   RHINE. 

to  be  their  master.  All  were  armed  with  knives  and 
spears,  the  old  man  alone  having  a  horn.  The  night 
was  dark  ;  but  suddenly  two  hundred  servants  appeared 
carrying  torches. 

"  Ebbene,"  said  the  master,  "  ubi  sunt  los  perros  ? " 

This  mixture  of  Italian,  Latin,  and  Spanish  was  not  at 
all  agreeable  to  Pecopin. 

The  old  man  then  said  with  impatience,  — 

"  The  dogs !  the  dogs !  "  and  in  less  than  a  minute  a 
pack  came  howling  and  barking  to  the  spot. 

Pecopin  thought  there  was  something  extraordinary  in 
all  that  he  saw,  and  was  beginning  to  consider  whether 
he  should  follow  in  the  chase,  when  the  old  man 
addressed  him :  — 

"  Well,  chevalier,  what  do  you  think  of  our  dogs  ?  " 

"  My  good  sir,"  Pecopin  replied,  "  to  follow  such 
animals  we  must  have  most  wonderful  horses." 

The  old  man,  without  replying,  raised  the  horn  to  his 
mouth  and  blew  it ;  a  noise  was  heard  among  the  trees, 
and  two  magnificent  horses,  black  as  jet,  appeared. 

"  Well,  seigneur,"  said  the  old  man,  smiling,  "  which  of 
the  two  do  you  prefer  ? " 

Pecopin  did  not  reply,  but  leaped  upon  one  of  them. 
The  old  man  asked  him  if  he  was  well  saddled ;  and  on 
being  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he  burst  into  a  fit  of 
laughter,  jumped  like  a  tiger  upon  the  other,  which 
trembled  fearfully,  and  began  to  blow  the  horn  so 
violently  that  Pecopin,  deafened  by  the  noise,  believed 
that  this  singular  individual  had  thunder  in  his  chest. 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  245 


PART   IX. 

The  Danger  to  which  we  expose  ourselves  hy  getting 
on  a  Strange  Horse.  —  At  the  sound  of  the  horn 
a  thousand  strange  lights  started  up  in  the  forest; 
strange  shadows  were  seen  everywhere  ;  and  the  words, 
"  To  the  chase  ! "  were  heard  mingling  with  the  barking  of 
the  dogs,  the  neighing  of  horses,  and  the  shaking  of  the 
trees.  Pecopin's  horse,  accompanied  by  that  of  the  old 
man,  started  off  at  a  violent  gallop,  making  every  step 
resound  in  the  lover's  brain,  as  if  the  horse's  hoofs  had 
come  in  contact  with  his  skull.  It  was  a  gallop,  rapid, 
supernatural,  which  almost  deprived  him  of  reason ;  for 
he  was  only  sensible  to  the  frightful  noise  around,  —  the 
whistling  of  the  wind,  the  rustling  of  leaves,  the  barking 
and  howling  of  dogs,  and  the  neighing  of  horses. 

Suddenly  all  was  silent,  save  the  sound  of  the  old 
man's  horn  in  the  distance.  Pecopin  knew  not  where  he 
was.  He  looked  round,  and  perceived  his  reflection  in 
what  he  thought  was  the  White  Lake,  then  in  the  Black 
one ;  but  he  saw  it  as  the  swallows  see  their  shadows  while 
gliding  over  the  surface  of  a  pond.  In  the  midst  of  this 
course  he  raised  his  hand  to  his  talisman,  and  suddenly 
he  was  enveloped  in  darkness,  while  his  horse  began  to 
gallop  with  renewed  fury.  At  this  terrible  moment 
Pecopin  commended  his  soul  to  God,  and  his  heart  to  his 
mistress.  He  continued  for  some  time  thus,  flying,  as  it 
were,  through  the  air,  when  the  thought  struck  him  that 
death  was  preferable  to  such  torment.  He  tried  to  throw 
himself  from  his  horse,  but  he  discovered  that  some  iron 
hand  held  him  by  the  feet. 


246  THE   EHINE. 

The  distant  cries,  the  barking  of  dogs,  the  neighing  of 
horses,  mingling  with  the  blasts  of  the  old  man's  horn, 
again  resounded  frightfully  in  his  ears.  The  poor  chev- 
alier closed  his  eyes  and  resigned  himself  to  his  fate. 
When  he  opened  them,  the  heat  of  a  tropical  night 
struck  his  countenance,  the  roarings  of  tigers  and  lions 
reached  his  ear,  and  he  saw  huge  ruins  and  strange 
trees.  Pecopin  was  in  an  Indian  forest.  He  again  shut 
his  eyes. 

Suddenly  his  horse  stopped,  the  noise  ceased,  and  all 
was  quiet. 

Pecopin,  who  had  remained  for  some  time  with  his 
eyes  shut,  opened  them,  and  found  himself  before  the 
faqade  of  a  sombre  and  colossal  edifice. 

The  old  man's  horn  resounded  through  the  building, 
the  doors  of  the  castle  opened  violently,  as  if  by  a  blast 
of  wind,  and  Pecopin,  on  his  horse,  entered  a  magnificent 
room,  splendidly  lighted.  He  cast  his  eyes  towards  the 
extremity  of  the  hall,  and  saw  a  number  of  guests,  of 
strange  appearance,  seated  at  table.  No  one  spoke ;  no 
one  ate ;  nor  did  any  of  them  look  at  him.  There  was 
an  empty  seat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  which  indicated 
that  they  were  waiting  their  superior's  arrival. 

Pecopin  discovered  among  this  motley  group  the  giant 
Nimrod  ;  King  Mithrobusane  ;  the  tyrant  Machanidas  ; 
the  Eoman  Consul,  ^milius  Barbula  the  Second ;  Eollo, 
King  of  the  Sea ;  Zuentibold,  the  unworthy  son  of  the 
great  Arnolphe,  King  of  Lorraine  ;  Athelstan,  King  of 
England  ;  Aigrold,  King  of  Denmark.  By  the  side  of 
Nimrod,  Cyrus,  the  founder  of  the  Persian  empire,  was 
seated,  leaning  on  his  elbow. 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  247 

The  old  man's  horn  was  again  heard ;  a  large  door, 
opposite  the  one  by  which  Pecopin  had  entered,  opened, 
and  innumerable  valets  appeared,  carrying  an  immense 
golden  plate,  in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  stag  with 
sixteen  horns,  roasted  and  smoking.  The  old  man 
entered  and  took  his  seat ;  and  after  observing  the  grave 
looks  of  his  guests,  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter, 
saying,  — 

"Hombres  y  mugeres,  or  ca  vosotros  belle  signore 
dornini  et  dominse,  amigos  mios,  comment  va  la  besogne." 

"  You  come  very  late,"  said  one  of  the  guests. 

"  That  is  because  I  have  a  friend  that  is  fond  of  hunt- 
ing ;   I  wished  to  show  him  one  of  our  excursions." 

"Yes;  but  look,"  Nimrod  said,  pointing  to  a  little 
crevice  which  exposed  the  break  of  day. 

"  Well,  we  must  make  haste,"  the  old  man  said,  mak- 
ing a  sign  to  the  valets  to  approach  and  deposit  their 
load  upon  the  table.  Pecopin  at  this  moment  drew  his 
sword,  sunk  his  spurs  into  the  sides  of  his  horse,  which 
moved  forward,  and  said  with  a  loud  voice,  — 

"  Pardieu  !  whoever  ye  may  be,  —  spectres,  demons,  or 
emperors,  —  I  forbid  ye  to  move ;  or,  by  all  that  is  holy, 
you  shall  feel,  as  well  as  that  old  man,  the  weight  of 
a  living  cavalier's  sword  upon  the  heads  of  phantoms. 
I  am  in  the  cave  of  shadows  ;  but  I  shall  do  things 
real  and  terrible.  Thou  hast  lied,  miserable  old  man. 
Defend  thyself ;  or,  by  the  Mass,  I  will  cleave  thy  head, 
wert  thou  King  Pluto  in  person." 

"  What 's  the  matter,  my  dear  sir  ? "  the  old  man 
replied  smiling.     "  You  are  going  to  sup  with  us." 


248  THE   RHINE. 

The  grimace  which  accompanied  this  gracious  invi- 
tation exasperated  Pecopin,  who  cried, — 

"  Defend  yourself,  old  villian !  You  made  me  a 
promise,  and  you  shall  pay  dearly  for  breaking  it." 

"  Ho,  ho,  my  worthy  friend  !  I  have  not  done  so  ;  you 
must  wait  a  little." 

"  Thou  promisedst  to  take  me  to  Bauldour ;  thou 
knowest  that  she  is  my  betrothed." 

"  Well,  since  you  will  have  it,  be  it  so.  Bad  examples 
are  shown  by  men  and  women  above  to  those  below. 
The  sun  and  moon  are  wedded,  but  they  are  a  disconso- 
late couple,  for  they  are  never  together." 

"  A  truce  to  raillery ! "  Pecopin  cried,  bursting  with 
rage,  "or  I  will  exterminate  thee  and  thy  demons,  and 
purge  thy  cavern." 

The  old  man  replied,  laughing,  "Purge,  my  friend. 
Here  is  the  prescription :  senna,  rhubarb,  and  Epsom 
salts." 

Pecopin  in  fury  levelled  a  blow  at  the  old  man's  head  ; 
but  his  horse  drew  back,  trembling.  At  this  moment 
a  gleam  of  light  stole  through  a  crevice,  the  cock  crowed, 
and  all  disappeared.  Pecopin,  on  his  horse  gliding  from 
beneath  him,  found  himself  standing,  sword  in  hand,  in 
a  ravine  near  an  old  castle.  Day  broke  ;  he  lifted  his 
eyes,  and  leaped  with  joy.  It  was  the  castle  of  Falken- 
burg.  He  sheathed  his  sword,  and  was  beginning  to 
walk  cheerfully  towards  the  manor,  when  he  heard  some 
one  say, — 

"  Well,  Chevalier  de  Sonnech,  have  I  kept  my  word  ?  " 

Pecopin  turned  round,  and  saw  the  little  hunchback 


LEGEND  OF  PECOPIN.  249 

that  he  had  met  in  the  wood,  who  in  irony  asked  him  if 
he  knew  him.  Pecopin  said  that  he  did,  and  thanked  him 
for  thus  bringing  him  to  his  Bauldour. 

"  Wait  a  little,"  the  old  man  said.  "  You  were  in  too 
great  a  hurry  in  accusing  me  ;  you  are  in  too  great  a 
hurry  in  returning  me  thanks.  Listen.  You  are  my 
creditor ;  I  owe  thee  two  things,  —  the  hump  on  my  back 
and  my  club-foot ;  but  I  am  a  good  debtor.  I  found  out 
thy  inclinations,  and  I  thought  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
debar  such  a  good  hunter  as  thou  art  from  partaking  in 
the  night  chase." 

Pecopin    involuntarily    shuddered,    and    the    Devil 
added,  — 

"If  thou  hadst  not  had  thy  talisman,  I  would  have 
taken  charge  of  thee  ;  but  I  am  as  well  pleased  that 
things  have  turned  out  as  they  have  done." 

"  Tell  me,  demon,"  Pecopin  said,  "  is  Bauldour  dead 
or  married,  or  has  she  taken  the  veil  ? " 

"  No  ;  "  the  demon  replied,  with  a  sinister  grin. 

"  She  is  at  Falkenburg,  and  still  loves  me  ? " 

"Yes." 

"  In  that  case,"  Pecopin  said,  respiring  as  if  a  load  had 
been  taken  from  his  chest,  "  whoever  thou  art,  and  what- 
ever may  happen,  I  thank  thee." 

"Dost  thou?"  the  devil  replied.  "Then,  if  thou 
art  satisfied,  so  am  I."  On  saying  these  words  he 
disappeared. 

Pecopin  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  said  to  himself, 
smilingly,  — 

''Bauldour  lives ;  she  is  free,  and  still  loves  me.    What 


250  THE   RHINE. 

have  I  to  fear  ?  When  I  met  the  demon  yesterday- 
evening,  five  years  had  expired  since  I  left  her,  and  it  is 
now  only  a  day  more." 

He  approached  the  castle,  recognized  with  joy  each 
projection  of  the  bridge,  and  felt  happy.  The  threshold 
of  the  house  in  which  our  boyish  years  have  been  spent, 
like  the  countenance  of  an  affectionate  mother,  smiles 
upon  us,  when  returning  after  a  year's  absence,  with  all 
the  vigour  of  manhood. 

As  he  was  crossing  the  bridge,  he  observed  a  beautiful 
oak,  whose  top  overlooked  the  parapet.  "  That  is 
strange,"  he  said  to  himself;  "  there  was  no  tree  there." 
Then  he  remembered  that,  two  or  three  weeks  before  he 
left,  Bauldour  and  he  had  amused  themselves  by  throw- 
ing acorns  at  each  other,  and  that  at  this  spot  one  had 
fallen  into  the  ditch. 

"  The  devil ! "  he  exclaimed  ;  "  an  acorn  become  a  tall 
oak  in  five  years  !  This  is  certainly  a  fertile  soil ! " 

Four  birds  were  perched  upon  this  tree,  trying  which 
could  make  the  most  noise.  Pecopin  looked  up,  and  saw 
a  daw,  a  blackbird,  a  magpie,  and  a  crow.  He  hurried 
on  ;  his  thoughts  were  on  Bauldour. 

He  arrived  at  the  staircase,  and  was  ascending  quickly, 
when  he  heard  some  one  laughing  behind  him ;  but  on 
turning  round,  he  could  see  no  one.  He  reached  the 
door,  in  which  was  the  key ;  his  heart  beat  violently ; 
he  listened,  and  the  sound  of  a  wheel  struck  his  ear. 
Was  it  that  of  Bauldour?  Pecopin,  trembling,  turned 
the  key,  opened  the  door,  entered,  and  beheld  an  old 
woman,  decrepit  and  worn  down  by  age,  her  face  covered 


LEGEND   OF   PECOPIN.  251 

with  a  thousand  wrinkles,  long  grey  hair,  escapiug  here 
and  there  from  her  cap,  her  eyebrows  white,  and  gums 
.  toothless.  This  venerable  yet  frightful  object  was  seated 
near  the  window,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  wheel  at  which 
she  was  spinning,  with  the  thread  between  her  long  thin 
iiu!?ers. 

The  old  lady  was  apparently  very  deaf,  for  notwith- 
standing the  noise  that  Pecopin  made  in  entering,  she 
did  not  move.  Nevertheless,  the  chevalier  took  off  his 
hat,  as  it  becomes  a  man  before  a  person  of  advanced 
age,  and  going  near  her,  said,  "  Madame,  where  is 
Bauldour  ? " 

The  old  dame  lifted  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on 
Pecopin ;  the  thread  dropped  from  her  trembling  hand ; 
she  screamed,  and  said  with  a  feeble  voice, — 

"  Oh,  Heaven  !  Pecopin  ?  What  would  you  ?  Masses 
for  your  troubled  soul  ?  —  or  why  is  it  that,  being  so  long 
dead,  your  shadow  still  walks  abroad  ?" 

"  Pardieu !  my  good  lady,"  Pecopin  replied,  laughing 
and  speaking  very  loud,  so  that  if  Bauldour  was  in  the 
next  room  she  might  hear  him,  — "  Pardieu !  I  am  not 
dead !  It  is  not  my  ghost  which  stands  before  you.  I  am 
of  good  solid  flesh  and  bone,  and  have  come  back,  not  to 
have  masses  said  for  my  soul,  but  for  a  kiss  from  my 
betrothed,  whom  I  love  more  than  ever." 

As  he  finished  the  last  words,  the  old  lady  threw  her- 
self into  his  arms.  It  was  Bauldour !  The  night  chase 
with  the  devil  had  lasted  a  hundred  years ! 

Pecopin,  distracted,  left  the  apartment,  ran  down-stairs, 
crossed  the  court,  flew  to  the  mountain,  and  took  refuge 


252  THE  KHINE, 

in  the  forest  of  Sonnecli.  Like  a  madman,  he  wandered 
about  the  woods  all  day ;  and  when  evening  came,  seeing 
that  he  was  approaching  the  turrets  of  his  own  castle,  he 
tore  off  the  rich  clothes  which  the  devil  had  given  him, 
and  threw  them  into  the  torrent  of  Sonnech.  Suddenly 
his  knees  trembled,  his  hands  shook,  and  to  prevent  him- 
self from  falling,  he  leaned  against  a  tree.  Pecopin  in 
the  excess  of  his  grief  had  unconsciously  seized  the  talis- 
man, and  thrown  it  with  his  clothes  into  the  torrent.  The 
words  of  the  Sultana's  slave  proved  true.  In  one  minute 
Pecopin  had  all  the  infirmities  attendant  upon  extreme  old 
age.  At  that  moment  he  heard  a  burst  of  laughter ;  he 
looked  round,  but  could  see  no  one. 

Pecopin,  in  pain  and  dejection,  supporting  himself  on 
a  stick,  was  returning  to  his  castle,  when  he  perceived 
a  jackdaw,  a  blackbird,  a  magpie,  and  a  crow  seated  on 
the  roof  of  the  out-house.  He  remembered  the  words  of 
the  old  man  :  "  For  the  young  the  blackbird  whistles,  the 
jackdaw  chatters,  and  the  raven  croaks,  the  hens  cackle, 
and  the  doves  coo;  for  the  old  man,  the  birds  speak." 
He  listened  attentively,  and  the  following  is  the  dialogue 
he  heard :  — 

Blackbird. — Enfin  mon  beau  chasseur,  te  voila  de  retour. 
Jackdaw. — Tel  qui  part  pour  un  an  croit  partir  pour  uu  jour. 
Kaven. — Tu  fis  la  chasse  a  I'aigle,  ou  milan,  ou  vautour. 
Magpie. — Mieux  eut  value  la  faire  au  doux  oiseau  d'ainour! 
Hen. — Pecopin  !  Pecopin  ! 
Dove. — Bauldour  !  Bauldour!  Bauldour! 


CHAPTEE    XXIL 


BINGEN. 


Houses  at  Bingen.  —  Paradise  Plain.  —  The  Klopp. — Mdlle.  Bertin. — 

The  Sage. 

'VT'OU  scold  me  in  your  last  letter,  my  friend ;  you  are 
-■-  partly  wrong  and  partly  right.  You  are  wrong 
in  what  concerns  the  church  of  Epernay,  for  I  have  not 
really  written  what  you  believe  you  have  read.  You  are 
right,  because  I  now  think  that  I  have  not  been  clear.  You 
tell  me  you  have  collected  information  on  the  subject  of 
the  church  of  Epernay,  that  I  am  mistaken  in  attributing 
it  to  M.  Poterlet-Galichet,  that  this  honest  citizen  of 
Epernay  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  building,  and  that 
besides  there  were  two  very  distinguished  men  of  that 
name  in  the  town,  —  a  singularly  able  engineer  and  a 
painter  of  great  promise, 

I  admit  all  this ;  and  ten  years  ago,  I  myself  knew  a 
young  and  delightful  painter  of  the  name  of  Poterlet,  and 
who,  if  he  had  not  died  at  the  early  age  of  twenty-five, 
would  to-day  be  as  much  esteemed  by  the  public  as  he 
then  was  by  his  friends.  But  I  deny  having  said  what 
you  make  me  say.  Eead  my  second  letter  again.  I  do 
not  connect  M.  Galichet  in  any  way  with  the  church  of 
Epernay.     I  only  said,  "  The  third,  the  present  one,  ap- 


254  THE   EHINE. 

peared  to  me  to  be  built,"  etc.,  —  a  sarcasm  which,  however, 
only  touches  the  church. 

This  little  affair  settled,  I  return  to  Bingen  from  Eper- 
nay.  The  transition  is  abrupt,  and  the  space  to  be  strided 
over  is  long. 

Bingen  is  an  exceedingly  pretty  place,  having  at  once 
the  sombre  look  of  an  ancient  town  and  the  cheering 
aspect  of  a  new  one.  From  the  days  of  Consul  Drusus  to 
those  of  the  Emperor  Charlemagne,  from  Charlemagne  to 
Archbishop  Willigis,  from  Willigis  to  the  merchant  Mon- 
temagno,  and  from  Montemagno  to  the  visionary  Holz- 
hausen,  the  town  gradually  increased  in  the  number  of 
its  houses  as  the  dew  gathers  drop  by  drop  in  the  cup  of 
a  lily.  Excuse  this  comparison  ;  for,  though  flowery,  it 
has  truth  to  back  it,  and  faithfully  illustrates  the  mode 
in  which  a  town  near  the  conflux  of  two  rivers  is  con- 
structed. The  irregularity  of  the  houses — in  fact,  every- 
thing —  tends  to  make  Bingen  a  kind  of  antithesis,  both 
with  respect  to  buildings  and  the  scenery  which  surrounds 
them.  The  town,  bounded  on  the  left  by  the  Nahue,  and 
by  the  PJiine  on  the  right,  develops  itself  in  a  triangular 
form  near  a  Gothic  church,  which  is  backed  by  a  Eoman 
citadel.  In  this  citadel,  which  bears  the  date  of  the  first 
century,  and  has  long  been  the  haunt  of  bandits,  there  is 
a  garden ;  and  in  the  church,  which  is  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  is  the  tomb  of  Bartholomew  of  Holzhausen.  In 
the  direction  of  Mayence,  the  famed  Paradise  Plain  opens 
upon  the  Khingau ;  and  in  that  of  Coblentz,  the  dark 
mountains  of  Leyen  seem  to  frown  on  the  surrounding 
scenery.     Here  Nature  smiles  like  a  lovely  woman  ex- 


Biiigen. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


I 
I 


THE   RHINGAU.  255 

tended  unadorned  on  the  greensward ;  there,  like  a  slum- 
bering giant,  she  excites  a  feeling  of  awe. 

A  thousand  memories,  represented  now  by  a  forest, 
now  by  a  building,  now  by  a  rock,  jostle  one  another  in 
this  corner  of  the  Ehingau.  That  green  hillside  yonder 
is  pleasant  Johannisberg ;  at  its  foot  is  the  formidable 
square  keep  which  flanks  the  angle  of  the  stout  city  of 
Eudesheim,  and  was  once  an  outpost  of  the  Eomans.  On 
the  summit  of  Niederwald,  which  is  opposite  Bingen,  at 
the  outskirt  of  a  magnificent  forest,  upon  a  mountain 
which  was  formerly  the  beginning  of  the  contraction 
of  the  Ehine,  and  which  in  the  olden  times  barred  its 
passage,  a  little  temple  with  white  columns,  somewhat  like 
the  rotunda  of  a  Parisian  cafd,  stands  above  the  gloomy 
and  haughty  Ehrensfels,  built  in  the  twelfth  century  by 
Archbishop  Siegfried ;  its  sombre  towers  were  once  a 
formidable  citadel,  and  form  a  splendid  ruin  to-day.  The 
toy  house  rises  higher  than  the  fortress,  and  humiliates  it. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  Ehine,  on  the  Eupertsberg,  which 
faces  the  Niederwald,  in  the  ruins  of  the  convent  of  Disibo- 
denberg,  the  holy  well  dug  by  Saint  Hildegarde  borders 
on  the  infamous  tower  built  by  Hatto.  Vines  surround 
the  convent ;  gulfs  environ  the  tower.  Blacksmiths  have 
taken  possession  of  the  tower ;  the  office  of  the  Prussian 
customs  is  established  in  the  convent.  The  spectre  of 
Hatto  hears  the  clank  of  the  anvil,  and  the  shade  of  Hil- 
degarde is  present  at  the  gauging  of  spirits. 

By  an  odd  contrast,  the  insurrection  of  Civilis  which 
destroyed  the  bridge  of  Drusus,  the  war  of  the  Palatinate 
which  destroyed  the  bridge  of  Willigis,  the  legions  of 


256  TPIE   RHINE. 

Tutor,  the  quarrels  of  Adolplius  of  Nassau  and  Didier 
of  Isemberg,  the  Normans  in  890,  the  burghers  of  Creuz- 
nach  in  1279,  the  Archbishop  Baldwin  of  Treves  in 
1334,  the  plague  in  1349,  the  inundation  in  1458,  the 
Palatine  Bailiff  Goler  of  Eavensbergin  1496,  the  Landgrave 
William  of  Hesse  in  1504,  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  the 
armies  of  the  Eevolution  and  Empire,  —  all  kinds  of  devas- 
tation, —  have  successively  traversed  this  happy  and  smil- 
ing plain,  while  the  most  charming  figures  of  liturgy  and 
legend  (Gela,  Jutta,  Liba,  Guda ;  Gisela,  the  sweet  daughter 
of  Broemser;  Hildegarde,  the  friend  of  Saint  Bernard; 
Hiltrude,  the  penitent  of  Pope  Eugene)  have  by  turns 
inhabited  these  lonely  rocks.  The  smell  of  blood  is  still 
in  the  plain  ;  the  perfume  of  sanctity  and  loveliness  still 
fills  the  mountain. 

The  more  we  examine  this  beautiful  place,  the  more 
the  antithesis  is  multiplied  under  our  looks  and  thoughts. 
It  assumes  a  thousand  different  forms ;  and  as  the  Nahue 
flows  through  the  arches  of  the  stone  bridge,  upon  the 
parapet  of  which  the  lion  of  Hesse  turns  its  back  to  the 
eagle  of  Prussia,  the  green  arm  of  the  PJiine  seizes  sud- 
denly the  fair  and  indolent  stream,  and  plunges  it  into 
the  Bingerloch. 

The  church  of  Bingen  is  plastered  in  grey  both  outside 
and  in.  Still,  the  abominable  restorations  that  are  taking 
place  in  France  will  finally  reconcile  me  to  plaster.  I 
may  say,  in  passing,  that  I  know  nothing  in  this  regard 
more  deplorable  than  the  restorations  of  the  abbey  of 
Saint-Denis,  now,  alas !  finished,  and  of  Notre  Dame  de 
Paris,  at  this  moment  in  progress.     You  may  be  quite 


THE  KLOPP.  257 

sure  I  shall  return  some  day  to  these  two  barbarous  acts. 
I  cannot  help  feeling  a  sense  of  personal  shame  when  I 
think  that  the  first  has  been  accomplished  at  our  doors 
and  the  second  in  the  very  centre  of  Paris.  We  are  all 
guilty  of  this  double  architectural  crime,  by  our  silence, 
by  our  toleration,  by  our  inertia  ;  and  we  shall  justly  de- 
serve the  scorn  and  indignation  of  posterity,  when  it  points 
to  these  two  degraded  and  disfigured  basilicas,  once  the 
most  beautiful  of  churches  and  the  most  illustrious  of 
monuments,  —  one  the  metropolitan  church  of  royalty, 
the  other  of  France  ! 

Let  us  hide  our  heads.  Such  restorations  are  equivalent 
to  demolitions. 

Plastering  is  simply  an  act  of  stupidity.  It  does  not 
destroy.  It  soils,  smears,  tattoos,  disfigures,  but  it  does 
not  ruin.  It  adjusts  the  idea  of  Caesar  Cesariano  or  Herwin 
von  Steinbach  just  as  it  does  the  face  of  Gauthier  Garguille  ; 
it  puts  a  mask  of  plaster  on  it,  —  nothing  more,  Scrapo 
off  the  white  or  red  or  yellow  or  grey  plaster  from  the 
poor  ill-used  faQade,  and  you  will  find  the  venerable 
countenance  of  the  church  as  pure  and  vivid  as  before. 

To  sit  down  towards  the  evening  on  the  summit  of  the 
Klopp ;  to  see  the  town  at  its  base,  with  an  immense 
horizon  on  all  sides,  the  mountains  overshadowing  all ; 
to  see  the  slated  roofs  smoking,  the  shadows  lengthening, 
and  the  scenery  breathing  to  life  the  verses  of  Virgil ;  to 
respire  at  once  the  wind  which  rustles  the  leaves,  the 
breeze  of  the  flood,  and  the  gale  of  the  mountain, — is  an 
exquisite  and  inexpressible  pleasure,  full  of  secret  enjoy- 
ment, which  is  veiled  by  the  grandeur  of  the  spectacle,  by 

VOL.    XXVII.  —  17 


258  THE  RHINE. 

the  intensity  of  contemplation.  At  the  windows  of  huts, 
young  women,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  their  work,  are  gaily 
singing;  among  the  weeds  that  grow  round  the  ruins 
birds  whistle  and  pair ;  barks  are  crossing  the  river,  and 
the  sound  of  oars  splashing  in  the  water,  and  unfurling  of 
sails,  reaches  our  ears.  The  washerwomen  of  the  Ehine 
spread  their  clothes  on  the  bushes ;  and  those  of  the 
Nahue,  their  legs  and  feet  naked,  beat  their  linen  upon 
floating  rafts,  and  laugh  at  some  poor  artist  as  he  sketches 
Ehrenfels. 

The  sun  sets,  night  comes  on,  the  slated  roofs  of  the 
houses  appear  as  one,  the  mountains  congregate  and  take 
the  aspect  of  an  immense  dark  body,  and  the  washer- 
women, with  bundles  on  their  heads,  return  cheerfully  to 
their  cabins  :  the  noise  subsides  ;  the  voices  are  hushed ; 
a  faint  light,  resembling  the  reflections  of  the  other 
world  upon  the  countenance  of  a  dying  man,  is  for  a 
short  time  observable  on  the  Ehrenfels ;  then  all  is  dark, 
except  the  tower  of  Hatto,  which,  though  scarcely  seen 
in  the  day,  makes  its  appearance  at  night,  amidst  a  light 
smoke  and  the  reverberation  of  the  forge. 

A  few  days  ago  I  was  seated  on  the  platform  at  Klopp, 
and  in  a  reverie  had  allowed  my  thoughts  to  wander 
at  will.  Suddenly  a  small  skylight  window  under  my 
feet  was  opened,  and  I  perceived  a  young  girl  appear 
at  the  window,  who  was  singing  to  a  slow  and  plaintive 
air,  in  a  clear,  rich  voice,  the  following  stanza :  — 

"  Plas  mi  cavalier  frances 
E  la  dona  catalana 
E  I'onraz  del  ginoes 


SONG  OF  THE  EMPERORS.  259 

E  la  court  de  castelana 
Lou  cantaz  provenzales 
E  la  dauza  trevisana 
E  lou  corps  aragones 
La  mans  a  kara  d'angles 
E  lou  donzel  de  Toscunu." 

I  immediately  recognized  the  joyful  verses  of  Frederick 
Barbarossa.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  describe 
the  effect  they  had  upon  me  when  heard  in  this  ancient 
ruin,  in  the  midst  of  obscurity,  —  that  song  of  the  em- 
perors, sung  by  a  young  girl;  these  Eoman  verses, 
accented  by  a  German  tongue ;  that  gaiety  of  by-gone 
times  changed  into  melancholy ;  that  ray  of  the  Cru- 
sades piercing  the  shadow  of  the  present,  and  throwing 
its  light  upon  me,  poor,  bewildered  dreamer. 

Since  I  have  spoken  upon  the  music  which  I  heard 
upon  the  Ehine,  why  not  mention  that  which  I  heard 
when  at  Bacharach  ?  Several  students,  seated  upon  the 
trunk  of  a  tree,  sang  to  German  words  that  admirable 
air  in  "Quasimode,"  which  is  the  most  beautiful  and 
most  original  in  Mademoiselle  Bertin's  opera.  The 
future,  doubt  it  not,  my  friend,  will  render  justice  to 
that  remarkable  opera,  which  on  its  appearance  was  un- 
fairly attacked  and  unjustly  dealt  with.  The  public,  too 
often  duped  by  ungenerous  criticisms,  by  the  malice 
of  rivalry,  with  respect  to  works  of  genius,  will  think 
for  itself,  and  will  one  day  admire  that  soft  and  profound 
music,  so  pathetic  and  powerful,  at  moments  melancholy, 
yet  pleasing,  —  music,  so  to  speak,  where  in  each  note  is 
mixed  that  which  is  most  tender  and  most  grave  :  the 


260  THE   RHINE. 

heart  of  a  lady  and  the  mind  of  a  sage.  Germany  has 
already  rendered  her  justice ;  France  will  soon  follow 
her  example. 

As  I  care  little  about  what  are  termed  local  curiosities, 
I  must  admit  that  I  did  not  see  the  miraculous  horn  nor 
the  nuptial  bed  nor  the  iron  chair  of  Broemser.  To 
make  amends,  I  visited  the  square  dungeon  of  Rudes- 
heim,  the  Eoman  caves,  and  saw  lanterns  of  the  thir- 
teenth century  and  numerous  sepulchral  urns. 

In  the  room  where  I  was  accustomed  to  dine  at  Bingen, 
I  saw  two  individuals  seated  at  opposite  tables.  There 
was  such  a  contrast,  both  in  their  appearance  and  in 
their  repast,  that  it  could  not  fail  to  excite  attention. 
The  one  was  a  huge  Bavarian  major,  who  spoke  a  little 
French,  and  who  allowed  dish  after  dish  to  be  taken 
away  without  scarcely  touching  them ;  the  other  was  a 
poor  looking  devil,  seated  before  a  plate  of  clioucroute, 
who,  after  having  his  meagre  pittance,  finished  his  dinner 
by  devouring  with  his  eyes  the  loaded  plates  of  his  neigh- 
bour. The  words  of  Albancourt  struck  me  forcibly  when 
looking  at  that  living  parable :  "  La  Providence  met  vol- 
ontiers  I'argent  d'un  cote  et  I'appetit  de  I'autre." 

The  poor  fellow  was  a  young  savant,  pale,  grave,  and 
melancholy.  It  was  said  that  he  was  in  love  with  one 
of  the  servants  of  the  aulerge,  which  is  rather  strange,  — 
for  to  me  a  savant  in  love  is  a  problem.  How  is  it  possi- 
ble that  the  studies,  the  dull  experiments,  and  the  minute 
observations  which  compose  the  life  of  a  sage  can  agree 
with  the  hope,  disappointment,  jealousy,  rage,  and  loss  of 
time  which  attend  the  tender  passion  ?     Imagine  how 


THE  SAGE.  261 

Doctor  Huxham  could  have  loved,  who,  in  his  excellent 
treatise  "  De  ^Ere  et  Morbis  Epidemicis,"  has  told,  month 
after  month,  the  quantity  of  rain  that  fell  at  Plymouth 
during  the  period  of  twenty-two  years.  Imagine  Eomeo 
looking  through  a  microscope,  and  counting  the  seven- 
teen thousand  facets  of  the  eye  of  a  fly ;  Don  Juan 
with  an  apron  on,  analyzing  the  paratar  trovinate  of  pot- 
ash ;  and  Othello,  in  a  stooping  posture,  looking  for 
gaillonellcs  in  the  fossils  of  China. 

However,  in  spite  of  all  laws,  this  poor  devil  was  in 
love.  At  times  he  spoke  French  which  was  far  superior 
to  the  major's,  and  his  address  was  more  gentlemanly,  — 
yet  he  had  not  a  stiver.  Sometimes  my  young  savant 
drank,  during  the  hours  at  tahlc  d'hote,  a  bottle  of 
small  beer,  while  his  eye  surveyed  in  envy  the  open- 
ing and  shutting  the  mouths  of  the  inmates  of  the  Hotel 
Victoria.  The  society  here  was  rather  mixed,  and  not  at 
all  harmonious.  At  the  end  of  the  table  was  an  old 
English  dame,  and  by  her  side  three  pretty  children. 
She  was  apparently  a  governess  or  an  aunt,  whose  conse- 
quential airs  raised  in  my  heart  a  feeling  of  sympathy 
for  the  pretty  little  ones.  The  major  was  seated  near 
her,  to  whom,  for  politeness,  he  addressed  his  conver- 
sation, at  one  time  describing  an  engagement,  at  another 
telling  her  he  was  going  to  Baden,  because  everybody 
went  there.  On  his  right  hand  was  an  advocate ;  and 
next  to  the  advocate  was  an  old  man,  whose  thin  grey 
hair  and  reverential  mien  had  that  mild  appearance 
which  a  near  approach  to  the  grave  gives,  and  which 
cites  in  every  look  the  beautiful  verses  of  Homer.     In 


262  THE   EHINE. 

front  of  the  old  gentleman  was  my  young  sage,  who  spoke 
pompously  of  the  "  harrangues  "  that  were  brought  from 
the  sea.  To  me, "  harengs  "  [herrings]  would  have  been 
more  likely  to  have  come  from  such  a  quarter. 

Two  Alsatian  tradesmen  completed  the  party,  men 
enriched  by  smuggling  weasel-skins,  who  are  to-day 
electors  and  jurymen.  They  smoked  their  pipes  and 
related  their  histories,  —  histories  always  the  same.  No 
sooner  had  they  finished  than  they  began  the  same  old 
stories  over  again.  As  they  invariably  forgot  the 
name  of  the  persons  to  whom  they  referred,  one  said  Mr. 
So-and-So,  and  the  other  Mr.  Thingumbob.  They 
understood  each  other. 

The  verse-maker  —  poet  if  you  will  —  was  a  philo- 
sophical rascal,  at  once  classical,  constitutional,  ironical, 
and  Voltairian,  who  took  a  delight,  he  told  us, in  sapping 
prejudices ;  that  is  to  say,  in  sneering  at  all  established 
usages  and  at  all  the  grave,  mysterious,  and  holy  things 
which  men  respect.  He  liked,  he  assured  us,  to  prick 
human  errors;  and  although  he  never  had  the  luck  of 
attacking  the  real  windmills  of  the  century,  he  called 
himself,  in  his  moments  of  gaiety  "  Don  Quichotte."  I 
called  him  "Don  Qui-choque." 

Sometimes  the  poet  and  lawyer,  although  admirably 
suited  to  each  other,  quarrelled.  The  poet,  to  complete 
his  picture,  was  a  man  of  unintelligible  intelligence,  a  man 
of  confused  ideas,  —  one  of  those  who  stammer  when  they 
speak  and  scribble  when  they  write.  The  lawyer  crushed 
him  by  his  superiority.  Sometimes  the  poet  got  enraged 
with  the  lawyer.     Then  the  indignant  advocate  would 


THE  SAGE.  263 

speak  for  two  hours  with  a  limpid,  running,  inexhaustible 
eloquence,  like  a  waterpipe  opened  by  a  turncock. 

Upon  this,  the  entomologist,  who  was  something  of  a 
wit,  would,  in  turn,  crush  the  lawyer.  He  spoke 
admirably,  winning  the  applause  of  the  company,  but 
every  now  and  then  looking  askance,  to  see  if  his  pretty 
inamorata  was  listeninof. 

One  day  he  was  perorating  on  the  virtues  of  resignation 
and  self-denial ;  but  he  had  not  eaten.  As  philosophy 
is  but  a  meagre  supper,  except  one  has  had  a  dinner 
before  it,  I  invited  him  to  share  my  meal;  and 
although  he  could  hardly  guess  from  the  few  words  I 
had  spoken  to  what  country  I  belonged,  he  condescended 
to  accept.  We  fell  into  conversation.  He  seemed  to 
take  a  fancy  to  me,  and  we  made  some  excursions 
together  to  the  Isle  of  Rats  and  the  right  bank  of  the 
Ehine.     I  paid  the  boatman. 

As  we  were  returning  one  evening  from  the  tower  of 
Hatto,  I  asked  him  to  supper.  The  major  was  at  table. 
My  learned  entomologist  had  caught  a  fine  scarabaeus 
encased  in  blue,  and  happened  to  say  when  showing  it  to 
me,  "  Nothing  is  so  beautiful  as  the  sagres  bleues."  Upon 
hearing  which  the  major  could  not  refrain  from  inter- 
rupting with,  "Faith,  sir,  the  sacres-hleus  are  occa- 
sionally useful  for  stirring  up  soldiers  and  horses  on  the 
march,  but  I  never  knew  before  that  they  were  beautiful." 

And  so  you  have  my  adventures  at  Bingen.  Although 
the  town  is  not  large,  I  don't  know  any  place  more 
conducive  to  ridding  you  of  your  loose  cash.  A  regular 
cascade  of  sometMng-to-drinks  rains  down  on  you  from 


264  THE   RHINE. 

all  sides, — from  porter  and  guide,  from  chamber-maid 
and  boatman,  and  at  the  end  of  them  the  purse  of  the 
unhappy  traveller  is  as  flat  as  a  pancake. 

By  the  way,  since  I  quitted  Bacharach,  I  have  left 
behind  me  thalers,  silbergrossen,  and  pfennings  and  have 
entered  the  land  of  florins  and  kreutzers.  Confusion 
worse  confounded !  If  you  enter  a  shop,  you  will  hear 
some  such  dialogue  as  this, — 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  One  florin  fifty-three  kreutzers." 

"  Explain  yourself  more  clearly." 

"  That  makes  one  thaler  two  grosschen  and  eighteen 
pfennings  in  Prussian  coin." 

"  Pardon  me,  I  do  not  yet  understand.  How  much  in 
French  money  ? " 

"A  florin  is  worth  two  francs  three  sous  and  one 
centime ;  a  Prussian  thaler,  three  francs  and  three 
quarters ;  a  silbergrossen,  two  sous  and  a  half ;  a  kreutzer 
three  fourths  of  a  sou ;  a  pfenning  three  fourths  of  a 
Hard."  Then  I  answer,  like  the  Don  Csesar  with  whom 
you  are  acquainted,  "  That  is  perfectly  clear,"  and  I 
open  my  purse,  trusting  to  the  proverbial  honesty  which 
is  probably  the  Ubian  altar  of  which  Tacitus  speaks, 
—  Ara    Vhiorum. 

The  pronunciation  also  complicates  things.  Among 
the  Hessians, "  kreutzer"  is  pronounced  "  creusse ; "  among 
the  Badenese,  "  criche ; "  and  in  Switzerland,  "  cruche." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


MAYENCE. 


Cathedral.  —  Its  Interior.  —  Henry  Frauenlob,  the  Tasso  of  Mayence. — 

Market  Place. 


MAYENCE  and  Frankfort,  like  Versailles  and  Paris, 
may  at  the  present  time  be  called  one  town. 
In  the  Middle  Ages  there  was  a  distance  of  eight  leagues 
between  them,  which  was  then  considered  a  long  journey ; 
now,  an  hour  and  a  quarter  will  suffice  to  transport  you 
from  one  to  the  other.  The  buildings  of  Frankfort  and 
Mayence,  like  those  of  Lidge,  have  been  devastated  by 
modern  good  taste,  and  old  and  venerable  edifices  are 
rapidly  disappearing,  giving  place  to  frightful  groups 
of  white  houses.  I  expected  to  see  at  Mayence, 
Martinsburg,  which  up  to  the  seventeenth  century  was 
the  feudal  residence  of  the  ecclesiastical  electors  ;  but 
the  French  made  a  hospital  of  it,  which  was  afterwards 
razed  to  the  ground  to  make  room  for  the  Porte  Franc ; 
the  Merchant's  Hotel,  built  in  1317  by  the  famed  League, 
and  which  was  splendidly  decorated  with  the  statues  of 
seven  electors,  and  surmounted  by  two  colossal  figures, 
bearing  the  crown  of  the  empire,  also  shared  the  same 
fate. 


266  THE  RHINE. 

I  reckoned  on  lodging  opposite,  in  the  hostelry  of  the 
Three  Crowns,  opened  in  1360  by  the  Cleemann  family, 
and  certainly  the  oldest  inn  in  Europe ;  I  had  hoped  to 
find  one  of  those  hostelries  described  by  the  Chevalier  de 
Gramont,  with  an  immense  fireplace,  a  spacious  hall  with 
pillars  and  beams,  the  wall  of  which  would  be  one  con- 
tinued latticed  window,  and,  outside,  a  stone  to  mount 
your  mule.  I  did  not  even  enter  it.  The  ancient  inn  of 
the  Cleemanns  is  now  a  sham  Hotel  Meurice,  with  rose- 
windows  in  pasteboard  at  the  roofs,  and  at  the  windows 
all  that  luxuriance  of  drapery  and  poverty  of  curtains 
which  characterize  German  hotels. 

Some  day,  Mayence  will  do  with  the  house  Bona 
Monte  and  the  house  Zum  Jungen,  what  Paris  has 
done  with  the  venerable  House  of  the  Pillars  at  the 
Halles.  It  will  be  destroyed ;  and  some  ugly  facade 
adorned  with  an  ugly  bust  will  take  the  place  of  the 
roof  that  saw  the  birth  of  John  Gensfleisch,  gentleman 
of  the  chamber  to  the  elector  Adolphus  of  Nassau,  but 
whom  posterity  knows  under  the  name  of  Gutenberg, 
as  it  knows,  under  the  name  of  Moliere,  Jean  Baptiste 
Poquelin,  valet  of  Louis  XIV. 

Still,  the  old  churches  protect  all  that  surrounds  them  ; 
and  it  is  around  its  cathedral  that  you  must  search  for 
Mayence,  just  as  it  is  around  its  collegial  precincts  that 
you  must  search  for  Frankfort. 

Cologne  is  a  Gothic  city,  still  lingering  in  the  Eoman 
epoch  ;  Frankfort  and  Mayence  are  two  Gothic  cities 
already  affected  by  the  Renaissance,  and  with  something 
of  the  rococo  and  spurious  art  of  the  succeeding  century. 


COLOGNE.  267 

Hence,  there  is  an  indescribable  Flemisli  atmosphere 
about  them  that  distinguishes  them,  and  almost  isolates 
them  from  the  other  cities  of  the  Ehine.  You  feel  at 
Cologne  that  the  austere  architects  of  the  Dome,  Master 
Gerard,  Master  Arnold,  and  Master  John,  long  influenced 
the  taste  of  the  city.  You  can  imagine  these  three  great 
shades  watching  for  four  centuries  over  Cologne,  protect- 
ing the  church  of  Plectrude,  the  church  of  Annon,  the 
tomb  of  Theophania,  and  the  golden  chamber  of  the 
eleven  thousand  virgins ;  barring  the  way  against  false 
taste,  preserving  the  purity  of  the  ogives  and  arches  ; 
weeding  the  endive  work  of  Louis  XV.,  wherever  it  dared 
to  appear;  maintaining  in  all  the  firmness  of  their  out- 
lines the  carved  gables  and  severe  hotels  of  the  fourteenth 
century  ;  and  we  see  that  they  have  been  routed,  like  the 
lion  by  the  ass,  only  by  the  presence  of  the  stupid  and 
abominable  art  of  the  Parisian  architects  of  the  Empire 
and  the  Kestoration.  At  Mayence  and  Frankfort,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  have  the  Eubens  school  of  architecture. 
The  vigorous  and  flowing  outline,  the  rich  Flemish 
caprices,  the  thick,  involved  vegetation  of  iron  trellis- 
work  loaded  with  flowers  and  animals,  the  inexhaustible 
variety  of  angles  and  turrets ;  superabundance  of  colour  and 
of  opulent  contours  that  show  more  health  than  beauty ; 
masks,  tritons,  naiads,  and  dolphins  streaming  with  water, 
all  the  robust,  fleshy  sculpture  of  paganism,  enormous 
and  hyperbolical  ornamentation,  magnificent  bad  taste,  — 
all  these  invaded  the  city  after  the  beginning  of  the  sev- 
enteenth century,  and  have  decked  and  festooned 
according  to  their  fantastic  imaginings  the  antique  and 


268  THE   RHINE. 

solemn  German  architecture  of  the  city.  Seen  as  the 
bird  flies,  Mayence  and  Frankfort,  having  both  the  same 
position, — the  one  on  the  Rhine,  the  other  on  the  Mein, 
—  which  Cologne  has,  have  necessarily  the  same  form. 
Upon  the  opposite  bank,  the  bridge  of  boats  of  Mayence 
has  produced  Castel,  and  the  stone  bridge  of  Frankfort 
has  produced  Sachshausen,  just  as  the  bridge  of  Cologne 
has  produced  Deuz. 

The  dome  of  Mayence,  like  the  cathedrals  of  Worms 
and  Treves,  has  no  facade,  and  terminates  at  its  two 
extremities  by  two  choirs.  These  are  two  Eoman  apses, 
having  each  its  transept  facing  each  other,  and  united  by 
a  great  nave,  as  if  the  two  churches  were  soldered 
together  by  their  fa(^ade.  The  two  churches  touch  and 
unite  at  their  feet.  This  geometrical  formation  results  in 
six  towers ;  that  is  to  say,  on  each  apsis  a  large  belfry 
between  two  turrets,  like  the  priest  between  the  deacon 
and  subdeacon,  —  a  symbolism  that  reproduces,  as  I  have 
said  elsewhere,  in  our  own  cathedrals  the  great  rose- 
window  between  its  two  ogives. 

The  two  apses,  whose  junction  composes  the  cathedral 
of  Mayence,  are  of  two  different  epochs,  and  although 
almost  identical  in  geometrical  design,  and  very  nearly 
so  in  dimensions,  present  a  complete  and  striking  con- 
trast. The  smaller  one  dates  from  the  tenth  century, 
having  been  begun  in  978  and  finished  in  1009 ;  the 
other,  whose  great  tower  is  two  hundred  feet  high,  was 
commenced  some  time  after;  but  it  was  burned  in  1190, 
and  since  then  every  century  has  added  a  stone  to  it.  A 
hundred  years  ago,  the  reigning  taste  invaded  the  dome  ; 


THE   CATHEDRAL  OF  MAYENCE.  269 

all  the  flora  of  the  Pompadour  style  has  mingled  its 
frippery,  its  foliage,  and  its  Byzantine  lacework  with  the 
Lombard  lozenge  and  the  full  Saxon  arch ;  and  to-day  this 
queer,  grimacing  vegetation  covers  the  old  apsis.  The 
huge  belfry,  broad  and  spacious  at  its  base,  haughtily 
crowned  by  three  diadems  wrought  in  flowers,  whose 
diameters  diminish  towards  the  summit,  with  its  rose  and 
facet-cut  ornaments,  looks  as  if  it  were  built  of  gems 
rather  than  of  stones.  On  the  other  tower,  which  is 
severe  and  simple,  Byzantine  as  well  as  Gothic,  modern 
builders  have  erected,  probably  through  economy,  a  sharp- 
pointed  cupola,  supported  at  its  base  on  a  circle  of 
pointed  gables,  resembling  the  crown  of  the  Lombard 
kings ;  this  cupola  is  of  zinc,  without  gilding  or  orna- 
ment, slightly  rounded  in  the  centre,  reminding  one  of 
the  pontifical  mitre  of  primitive  times,  —  the  austere  tiara 
of  Gregory  VIL  looking  on  the  splendid  tiara  of  Boniface 
VIIL  ;  a  lofty  thought,  wrought  and  sculptured  by  Time 
and  Chance,  those  two  great  architects. 

The  whole  of  this  venerable  edifice  has  been  smeared 
over  with  rose-coloured  plaster  from  top  to  bottom,  —  the 
two  apses  as  well  as  the  great  nave  and  the  six  towers. 
The  thing  has  been  managed  with  exquisite  taste  !  The 
Byzantine  tower  is  in  pale  rose,  the  Pompadour  in  red ! 

Like  the  chapel  of  Aix,  the  cathedral  of  Mayence  has 
its  gates  of  bronze  adorned  with  heads  of  lions ;  those  of 
Aix-la-Chapelle  are  Eoman.  When  I  visited  Aix  and 
saw  these  doors,  I  vainly  sought,  as  you  may  remember, 
the  hole  made  by  the  kick  of  the  devil  when  he  flew 
away  in  his  fury  at  having  swallowed  the  soul  of  a  wolf 


270  THE   RHINE. 

instead  of  the  soul  of  a  fat  burgess.  There  is  no  story  of 
this  kind  connected  with  the  doors  of  the  cathedral  of 
Mayence.  They  are  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  had 
been  given  by  Archbishop  Willigis  to  the  church  of  Our 
Lady,  which  is  to-day  demolished  ;  they  were  taken  from 
it  to  embellish  the  majestic  Eoman  portal  of  the  cathedral. 
Over  the  top  of  the  two  folding  doors  are  written  in 
Eoman  characters  the  privileges  accorded  the  city  in 
1135  by  Archbishop  Adelbert,  Elector  of  Cologne. 
Below  is  engraved  this  older  legend  (sic)  :  — 

Wl^QSVSyREbEPSEXETAlli 
5r£[IEVALVASEFFE[EKATPRIMVS 

If  the  interior  of  Mayence  recalls  the  Flemish  cities, 
the  interior  of  the  cathedral  recalls  the  Belgian  churches. 
The  nave,  the  two  apses,  the  chapels,  and  the  two  tran- 
septs are  without  stained  glass  or  mystery ;  they  are 
plastered  in  white  from  the  pavement  to  the  roof,  but 
sumptuously  furnished.  The  eye  meets  everywhere  with 
frescos,  pictures,  woodwork,  twisted  and  gilt  columns. 
But  the  true  jewels  of  the  immense  edifice  are  the  tombs 
of  the  Archbishop  Electors.  The  church  is  paved  with 
them,  the  altars  are  made  of  them,  the  pillars  are  but- 
tressed by  them,  and  the  walls  are  covered  with  them  ; 
they  are  magnificent  slabs  of  stone  and  marble,  more  pre- 
cious on  account  of  their  carving  than  the  golden  plates 
of  Solomon's  temple.  I  have  verified  in  the  church,  in 
the  capitulary  hall,  and  in  the  cloister,  one  tomb  of  the 
eighth  century,  two  of  the   thirteenth,  six  of  the  four- 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  MAYENCE.  271 

teenth,  six  of  the  fifteenth,  eleven  of  the  sixteenth,  eight 
of  the  seventeenth,  and  nine  of  the  eighteenth,  in  all 
forty-three  sepulchres.  Among  these  I  do  not  reckon 
the  altar-tombs,  difficult  of  approach  and  examination,  nor 
the  pavement-tombs,  sombre  and  confused  mosaics  of 
death,  becoming  more  and  more  worn  out  under  the  foot- 
steps of  the  tourist.  I  also  omit  the  four  or  five  insignificant 
tombs  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

All  these  tombs,  with  the  exception  of  five,  are  the 
burial-places  of  archbishops.  On  the  thirty-eight  ceno- 
taphs, scattered  without  chronological  order  and  at 
random  under  a  forest  of  Byzantine  columns,  with  enig- 
matical capitals,  the  art  of  six  centuries  develops  itself 
and  ramifies  its  inextricable  branches,  from  which  falls 
a  double  fruit,  —  the  history  of  ideas  and  the  history  of 
facts.  There,  Liebenstein,  Hompurg,  Gemmingen,  Heu- 
fenstein,  Brandenburg,  Steinburg,  Ingelheim,  Dalberg, 
Eltz,  Stadion,  Weinsberg,  Ostein,  Leyen,  Hennenberg, 
Turm-and-Taxis,  —  almost  all  the  great  names  of  PJienish 
Germany,  —  shine  through  that  gloomy  radiance  which 
tombs  shed  in  the  darkness  of  churches.  All  the  fancies 
of  an  epoch  and  of  an  artist  mingle  with  the  caprices  of 
the  dead  in  all  these  epitaphs.  The  mausoleums  of  the 
eighteenth  century  half  disclose  their  skeletons,  bearing 
in  their  long  fleshless  fingers  the  arohiepiscopal  mitre 
or  the  electoral  cap.  The  archbishops  of  the  time  of 
Ptichelieu  and  Louis  XIII.  recline  upon  their  sarcophagi, 
resting  on  their  elbows.  The  arabesques  of  the  Eenais- 
sance  throw  out  their  tendrils,  and  perch  their  chimeras 
on  the  delicate  foliage  of  the  fifteenth  century,  and  ex- 


272  THE   RHINE. 

hibit  under  a  thousand  charming  complications  statu- 
ettes, Latin  distichs,  and  painted  escutcheons.  Austere 
names,  like  those  of  Mathias  Burhecg,  Conradus  Eheiu- 
graf,  are  inscribed  between  the  tonsured  monk  that 
represents  the  clergy  and  the  mailed  man-at-arms  that 
represents  the  nobility,  under  the  pure  equiangular  ogive 
of  the  fourteenth  century ;  and  on  the  painted  and  gilt 
slab  of  the  thirteenth  century,  gigantic  archbishops,  who 
have  apocalyptic  monsters  under  their  feet,  crown  with 
both  hands  kings  and  emperors,  their  inferiors.  In  this 
haughty  attitude  you  behold  Siegfried,  staring  at  you 
vs'ith  his  mummy  eyes,  who  crowned  two  emperors,  — 
Henry  of  Thuringia  and  William  of  Holland ;  and  Peter 
Aspeld,  who  crowned  two  emperors  and  one  king, — 
Louis  of  Bavaria,  Henry  VIL,  and  John  of  Bohemia. 
Coats  of  arms,  heraldic  mantles,  mitres,  crowns,  electoral 
caps,  cardinals'  hats,  sceptres,  swords,  crosiers,  super- 
abound,  and  are  piled  up  on  the  monuments,  and  serve 
to  impress  the  wayfarer  with  the  power  of  that  great 
and  formidable  figure  that  presided  over  the  nine  electors 
of  the  German  Empire,  and  was  styled  the  Archbishop 
of  Mayence.  It  is  the  chaos,  already  half  hid  in  dark- 
ness, of  things  illustrious  or  august,  of  venerable  or 
dread  emblems,  by  which  these  powerful  princes  wished 
to  create  an  idea  of  their  grandeur,  and  from  which  has 
only  sprung  an  idea  of  their  nothingness. 

It  is  a  striking  fact,  showing  to  what  degree  the 
French  Eevolution  was  a  providential  and  necessary, 
nay,  mathematical,  resultant  of  the  entire  European  sys- 
tem, that  what  it  has  destroyed,  it  has  destroyed  for- 


EFFECT  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  273 

ever.  It  came  at  its  appointed  hour,  like  a  wood-cutter 
in  a  hurry  to  finish  his  task,  to  cut  down  all  the  old 
trees  mysteriously  marked  by  the  Lord.  We  must  feel, 
as  I  think  I  have  remarked  somewhere,  that  in  it  there 
was  a  giiid  divinum.  Nothing  it  has  cast  down  has 
risen  again  ;  nothing  it  has  condemned  has  survived  ; 
nothing  it  has  undone  has  been  renewed.  And  let  us 
observe  here  that  the  life  of  nations  does  not  hang  by 
the  same  thread  as  that  of  individuals.  Cities  and 
realms  are  killed  only  when  their  time  has  come  to  die. 
The  French  Eevolution  touched  Venice,  and  Venice  fell ; 
it  touched  the  Empire  of  Germany,  and  the  Empire  of 
Germany  fell ;  it  touched  the  electors,  and  the  electors 
vanished.  The  same  year,  the  great  abysmal  year,  saw 
swallowed  up  the  King  of  France,  who  was  almost  a 
god,  and  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  who  was  almost 
a  king. 

The  French  Eevolution  has  not  extirpated  or  destroyed 
Eome,  because  Eome  has  not  foundations  but  roots,  — 
roots  whose  growth  is  unceasing  in  the  shadow  under 
Eome  and  under  all  nations  ;  roots  that  penetrate  the 
entire  globe  from  end  to  end,  and  reappear  at  the  present 
hour  in  China  and  Japan  at  the  extremity  of  the  earth. 

William  von  Hagen,  the  town  clerk  of  Cologne  in  1270, 
—  the  Jean  de  Troyes  of  his  age,  —  relates  in  his 
Chronicle  (a  manuscript  unhappily  torn  during  the 
French  occupation,  and  of  which  there  are  a  few  leaves 
in  the  library  of  the  city  of  Darmstadt)  that  during  the 
reign  of  the  same  Archbishop  Siegfried,  whose  tomb  in 
the  cathedral  is  such  an   impressive   spectacle,  an  old 

VOL.  XXVII.  — 18 


274 


THE   KHINE. 


astrologer  named  Mabusius  was  condemned  to  the  stake 
as  a  sorcerer,  and  was  led  to  be  executed  at  the  stone 
gibbet  of  Lorchausen,  which  marked  the  frontier  of  the 
Archbishop  of  Mayence,  and  faced  another  gibbet,  which 
marked  the  frontier  of  the  Count  Palatine.  When  the 
astrologer  reached  the  spot  he  refused  the  crucifix,  and 
obstinately  declared  that  he  was  a  prophet.  The  monk 
who  attended  him  asked  him,  with  a  sneer,  in  what  year 
would  the  line  of  the  archbishops  come  to  an  end.  The 
old  man  asked  to  have  his  right  hand  unbound,  which 
was  done.  Then  he  picked  up  a  nail  lying  on  the 
ground,  and  after  a  moment's  reflection  engraved  on 
the  front  of  the  gibbet  facing  Mayence  this  singular 
polygram,  — 


1 


IV. 


XX 


XIII 


Thereupon  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  executioner,  whose 
aids  laughed  at  his  folly  and  his  riddle.  To-day  we  find, 
by  combining  these  three  mysterious  numbers,  the  por- 
tentous date  '93,  —  quatre,  vingt,  treize. 

And  be  it  also  noted  that  this  grisly  gibbet,  bearing 
on  its  menacing  front  since  the  thirteenth  century  the 
date  of  the  fall  of  empires,  bore  also  the  date  of  its  own 
condemnation.  The  gibbet  formed  a  part  of  the  ancient 
power.  The  French  Eevolution  had  as  little  respect  for 
gibbets  as  it  had  for  dynasties.     There  was  no  longer 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  MAYENCE.       275 

reverence  for  either  stone  or  marble.  The  scaffold  also 
has  lost  its  majesty  and  grandeur  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  it  is  now  made  of  deal,  like  the  throne. 

Like  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Mayence  has  had  one  bishop  — 
only  one  —  named  by  Napoleon.  He  is  said  to  have  been 
an  excellent  pastor ;  he  sat  on  the  throne  from  1802  till 
1818,  and  is  buried  in  what  was  once  his  cathedral.  It 
must  be  confessed  that,  in  presence  of  the  majestic  noth- 
ingness of  the  archiepiscopal  electors  of  Mayence,  the 
nothingness  of  M.  Louis  Colmar,  bishop  of  the  Depart- 
ment of  Mont-Tonnerre,  shrinks,  if  that  were  possible, 
into  still  smaller  dimensions  in  its  paltry  little  tomb.  If, 
instead  of  a  prelate's  medallion,  a  dial  were  affixed  to  it, 
it  would  serve  as  the  model  for  a  Gothic  clock  for  the 
wealthy  tradesmen  of  the  Rue  Saint-Denis.  However, 
this  modest  bishop,  who  was  at  least  great  in  this,  that 
he  was  an  accident  of  the  Eevolution,  destroyed  the  last 
sovereign  archbishop.  Since  M.  Louis  Colmar,  there  has 
been  no  bishop  in  Mayence,  to-day  the  capital  of  Rhenish 
Hesse. 

I  have  found  there,  also,  an  Arcadian  couple  of  arch- 
bishop brothers  interred  opposite  each  other  after  hav- 
ing reigned  over  the  same  people  and  governed  the  same 
souls,  —  one  in  1390,  the  other  in  1419.  John  and  Adol- 
phus  of  Nassau  gaze  on  one  another  in  the  nave  of 
Mayence,  just  as  Adolphus  and  Antony  of  Schauenburg 
do  in  the  choir  of  Cologne. 

I  have  said  that  one  of  the  forty-three  tombs  was  of 
the  eighth  century.  This  one  is  not  the  monument  of 
an  archbishop ;  but  it  is  the  one  for  which  I  first  sought, 


276  THE   RHINE. 

and  at  which  I  lingered  longest,  for  it  was  associated  in 
my  mind  with  the  great  sepulchre  at  Aix-la-Chapelle. 
It  is  the  tomb  of  Fastrada,  the  wife  of  Charlemagne. 
The  tomb  of  Fastrada  is  a  simple  slab  of  white  marble 
fixed  in  the  wall.  I  have  deciphered  this  inscription 
on  it,  engraved  in  Koman  letters  with  Byzantine 
abbreviations  :  — 

FASTRADANA   PIA   CAROLI   CONIVX   VOCITATA 
CHRISTO   DILECTA   lACET   HOC   SVB   MARMORE   TECTA 
ANNO   SEPTENGENTESIMO   N0NAGESI3I0   QVARTO. 

Then  come  these  three  mysterious  verses :  — 

QVEM   NVMERVM   METRO   CLAVDERE   MVSA   NEGAT 
REX  PIE   QVEM   GESSIT   VIRGO   LICET   HIO   CINERESCIT. 
SPIRITVS   H^RES   SIT   PATRIE   QV^   TRISTIA   NESCIT. 

And  underneath  the  year  1000,  in  Arabic  :  — 


^v^Ji. 


It  was,  in  fact,  in  794  that  Fastrada,  at  first  buried  in 
the  church  of  Saint  Alban,  was  interred  under  this  slab. 
A  thousand  years  after,  —  with  such  awful  precision  does 
history  interfere  in  great  events,  —  in  1794,  the  consort 
of  Charlemagne  was  disturbed  in  her  rest.  Her  ancient 
city  of  Mayence  was  bombarded ;  her  church  of  Saint 
Alban  was  in  flames ;  her  tomb  was  opened.  No  one 
knows  what  has  become  of  her  bones.  The  slab  of  her 
tomb  was  removed  to  the  cathedral. 

Such  is  the  story  a  poor  old  beadle,  in  a  bobwig  and  a 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  MAYENCE.        277 

veteran's  tunic,  relates  to  the  traveller  to-day.  In  addi- 
tion to  the  tombs,  the  shrines  with  figures,  the  gold- 
grounded  oil-paintings  on  wood,  bas-reliefs  on  altars, 
each  of  the  two  apses  has  its  special  decorations. 

The  old  apsis  of  798,  adorned  with  two  charming 
Byzantine  staircases,  encircles  a  magnificent  baptismal 
urn,  in  bronze,  of  the  fourteenth  century.  On  the  exte- 
rior face  of  this  vast  piscina  are  sculptured  the  Twelve 
Apostles  and  Saint  Martin,  patron  of  the  church.  The 
cover  was  broken  during  the  bombardment.  Under  the 
empire  —  that  age  of  fine  taste  ! — they  capped  the  Gothic 
font  with  a  kind  of  saucepan. 

The  other  apsis  —  the  largest  and  most  modern  —  is 
occupied,  and  almost  choked,  with  woodwork  and  stalls 
in  black  oak,  on  which  the  impetuous  style  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  displays  all  its  scorn  for  the  straight  line ; 
and  this  with  such  violence  that  it  almost  attains  to 
beauty.  Never  has  a  more  delicate  chisel,  a  more  potent 
fantasy,  or  a  more  varied  invention  been  placed  at  the 
service  of  bad  taste.  Four  statues  —  Crescentius,  first 
bishop  of  Mayence  in  the  year  70 ;  Boniface,  first  arch- 
bishop in  755;  Willigis,  first  elector  in  1011 ;  and  Bardo, 
founder  of  the  cathedral  —  stand  gravely  around  the 
choir,  and  above  the  Oriental  dais  of  the  archbishop  is 
the  group  of  Saint  Martin  and  the  Beggar.  At  the 
entrance  to  the  choir  stand  Aaron  in  all  the  mysterious 
pomp  of  the  Hebrew  High  Priest,  who  represents  the 
spirituality,  and  Melchizedek,  who  represents  the  tempo- 
rality of  the  bishop. 

The  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  like  the  prince-bishops  of 


278  THE   RHINE. 

Worms  and  Li4ge,  like  the  Archbishops  of  Cologne  and 
Treves,  and  like  the  Pope,  united  in  his  person  the  double 
pontificate ;  he  was  at  once  Aaron  and  Melchizedek. 

The  capitulary  hall,  bordering  on  the  choir,  is  gloomy 
and  superb,  and  with  its  splendid  Pompadour  woodwork 
repeats  the  antithesis  of  the  two  big  towers.  Nothing  is 
seen  but  a  great  naked  high  wall;  a  dusty  pavement, 
with  tombs  here  and  there  in  relief ;  some  remains  of 
stained  glass  in  the  baw  window;  a  coloured  pediment 
representing  Saint  Martin,  not  as  a  Ptoman  knight,  but 
as  bishop  of  Tours ;  three  great  groups  of  sculpture  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  —  the  Crucifixion,  the  Eesurrec- 
tion,  and  the  Ascension ;  around  the  hall,  a  stone  bench 
for  the  canons ;  and  at  the  back,  a  broad  seat  for  the 
archbishop,  also  in  stone,  which  recalls  the  austere  mar- 
ble chair  of  the  first  popes,  which  is  still  kept  at  Notre- 
Dame-des-Doms-d'Avignon.  And  if  we  leave  this  hall 
we  enter  a  cloister,  —  a  cloister  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury, which  at  all  times  has  been  a  severe  spot,  and  is 
to-day  a  gloomy  spot.  The  bombardment  of  '94  is  there 
written  everywhere.  Tall,  damp  grass,  amid  which  lie 
stones  silvered  by  the  slime  of  serpents  ;  ogive  arches 
broken,  tombstones  cracked  by  shells  as  if  they  were 
panes  of  glass ;  stone  knights,  armed  cap-a-pie,  stricken 
in  the  face  by  bombs,  and  rendered  unrecognizable  ;  old 
women's  rags  drying  on  lines ;  and  planking  which  has 
here  and  there  taken  the  place  of  granite,- — a  dismal  soli- 
tude only  broken  by  the  croaking  of  the  ravens.  Such  is 
to-day  the  archiepiscopal  cloister  of  Mayence.  Bullets 
and   petards   have   left   their   mark   everywhere.      Two 


THE  CATHEDRAL  OF  MAYENCE,  279 

or  three  melancholy  statues,  standing  m  a  corner  under 
the  rain  and  the  wind,  look  on  in  silence  at  all  this 
desolation. 

Under  the  galleries  of  the  cloister  I  observed  an 
obscure  monument,  a  bas-relief  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
and  tried  in  vain  to  guess  the  enigma.  On  one  side 
are  two  men  in  chains,  wildness  in  their  looks,  and 
despair  in  their  attitudes ;  on  the  other,  an  emperor, 
accompanied  by  a  bishop,  and  surrounded  by  a  number 
of  people,  triumphing.  Is  it  Barbarossa  ?  Is  it  Louis 
of  Bavaria?  Does  it  speak  of  the  revolt  of  1160,  or  of 
the  war  between  Mayence  and  Frankfort  in  1332  ?  I 
could  not  tell,  and  therefore  passed  by. 

As  I  was  leaving  the  galleries,  I  discovered  in  the 
shade  a  sculptured  head,  half  protruding  from  the  wall, 
surmounted  by  a  crown  of  flower-work,  similar  to  that 
worn  by  the  kings  of  the  eleventh  century.  I  looked  at 
it.  It  had  a  mild  countenance  ;  yet  there  was  stamped 
on  it  that  severe  and  august  beauty  which  sublime 
thoughts  give  to  man.  Above  it  some  visitor  had  written 
"  Frauenlob  ! "  a  name  which  reminds  one  of  that  Tasso 
of  Mayence,  so  calumniated  during  life,  so  revered  after 
death.  When  Henry  Frauenlob  died  in  1318,  the  women 
of  Mayence,  who  had  mocked  him  when  alive,  carried 
his  coffin  to  the  grave.  The  v/omen  and  the  coffin  are 
carved  in  stone  a  little  beneath  his  head.  The  head  is 
grand,  and  the  sculptor  has  represented  him  with  his  eyes 
open.  Amid  the  crowd  of  bishops  and  princes  reposing 
in  this  church,  the  poet  alone  appears  to  keep  watch 
with  unwearied  vigilance. 


280  THE   RHINE. 

The  market-place  around  the  cathedral,  has  rather  an 
amusing  and  pleasing  aspect.  In  the  middle  is  a  pretty 
triangular  fountain  of  the  German  Renaissance,  which, 
besides  having  sceptres,  nymphs,  angels,  dolphins,  and 
mermaids,  serves  as  a  pedestal  to  the  Virgin  Mary.  Upon 
one  of  the  faces  is  the  following  pentameter :  — 

Albertus  piiuceps  civibus  ipse  suis. 

This  recalls,  but  with  less  geniality,  the  dedication 
written  on  the  fountain  raised  by  the  last  elector  of 
Treves,  near  his  palace,  in    the    new  city  of  Coblentz  : 

Clemens  Vinceslaus,  elector,  vicinis  suis. 

To  his  fellow-citizens  is  constitutional ;   to  his  neighbours 
is  charming. 

The  fountain  of  Mayence  was  built  by  Albert  of 
Brandenburg,  who  reigned  about  1540  and  whose  epitaph 
I  have  just  read  in  the  cathedral:  "Albert,  Cardinal, 
Priest  of  Saint  Peter-in-Chains,  Archchancellor  of  the 
Holy  Empire,  Marquis  of  Brandenburg,  Duke  of  Stettin 
and  Pomerania,  elector."  He  erected,  or  rather  rebuilt, 
this  fountain  as  a  souvenir  of  the  successes  of  Charles  V. 
and  the  captivity  of  Francis  I.,  as  is  shown  by  this 
inscription  in  gold  letters  lately  restored  :  — 

DIVO  KAROLO  V  C.ESARE  SEMP.  AVG.  POST  VICTORIA 
GALLICAM  REGE  IPSO  AD  TICINV  SVPERATO  AC  CAPTO 
TRIVPHANTE  FATALIQ  RVSTICORVPER  GERMNIA  COSPI 
RATIONE  PROSTRATA  ALBER.  CARD.  ET  ARCHIEP.  MOG. 
rONTE  HVNC  VETVSTATE  DILAPSV  AD  CIVIV  SVORVM 
POSTERITATISQVB    VSVM    RESTITVI   CVRAVIT. 


Fountain,  Market- Place,  Mayence. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


FORTRESS  AJ^B   PEOPLE  OF  MAYENCE.     281 

Seen  from  the  top  of  the  citadel,  Mayence  presents 
sixteen  redoubts,  from  which  the  guns  of  the  Germanic 
Confederation  gracefully  point,  —  the  six  towers  of  the 
cathedral,  two  fine  military  towers,  a  spire  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  four  Flemish  turrets,  with  the  dome  of 
the  Carmelites  in  the  Kue  de  Cassette  thrice  repeated, 
which  is  quite  enough.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill  crowned 
by  the  fortress,,  one  of  these  ignoble  domes  rises  above  a 
poor  old  Saxon  church,  —  one  of  the  most  melancholy  and 
humiliated  churches  in  the  world,  close  to  a  charming 
Gothic  cloister  containing  Roman  sarcophagi  from  which 
the  horses  of  the  Kaiserlings  drink. 

The  beauty  of  the  women  of  the  Rhine  appears  in  its 
full  splendour  at  Mayence  ;  but,  like  the  Flemish  and 
Alsatian  ladies,  they  have  one  defect,  —  curiosity.  May- 
ence is  the  junction  between  the  spy-glasses  of  Antwerp 
and  the  spy-turrets  of  Strasburg. 

Mayence,  white  though  it  be,  receives  not  the  respect 
of  a  mercantile  city.  The  river  here  is  not  less  crowded 
with  sails,  the  town  not  less  encumbered  with  bales,  nor 
more  free  from  bustle,  than  formerly.  People  walk, 
speak,  push,  sell,  buy,  sing,  and  cry  ;  in  fact,  in  all  the 
quarters  of  the  town,  in  every  house,  life  seems  to  pre- 
dominate. At  night  the  buzz  and  noise  cease,  and  noth- 
ing is  heard  at  Mayence  but  the  murmurings  of  the 
Rhine  and  the  everlasting  noise  of  seventeen  water- 
mills,  which  are  fixed  to  the  piles  of  the  bridge  of 
Charlemagne. 

Whatever  the  Congresses  may  have  done,  or  rather,  in 
spite  of  what  the  Congresses  have  done,  the  void  left  by 


282  THE   RHINE. 

the  triple  domination  of  the  Romans,  the  archbishops,  and 
the  French  is  not  filled  up.  No  one  feels  at  home  there. 
The  Grand  Duke  of  Hesse  reigns  only  in  name.  On  his 
fortress  of  Castel  he  may  read,  "  Cura  confsederationis 
conditum;"  and  he  may  also  see  a  white  soldier  and  a 
blue  soldier  —  that  is  to  say,  Austria  and  Prussia  —  pac- 
ing to  and  fro  before  his  fortress  of  Mayence,  with  gun  on 
shoulder.  Nor  do  Prussia  and  Austria  feel  at  home 
either ;  they  jostle  and  elbow  each  other.  Clearly  the 
present  state  of  things  is  only  provisionaL  In  the  very 
wall  of  the  citadel  there  is  a  ruin  included  in  the  new 
rampart,  a  sort  of  truncated  pedestal,  which  is  still 
called  the  "  eagle's  stone,"  —  Adlerstein,  It  is  the  tomb  of 
Drusus.  An  eagle  —  indeed,  a  formidable  and  all-power- 
ful eagle  —  perched  there  for  sixteen  hundred  years,  and 
then  vanished.  It  reappeared  in  1804;  in  1814  it  flew 
away  again.  At  this  moment,  Mayence  perceives,  in  the 
direction  of  France,  a  black  spot  that  is  growing  larger 
and  is  approaching.     It  is  the  eagle  returning. 


CHAPTEE   XXIV. 

FRANKFORT    ON    THE    MAINE. 

Jews  at  Frankfort.  —  Slaughter-House.  —  Roemer.  —  Inhabitants 

of  the  Steeple. 

T  AREIVED  at  Frankfort  on  a  Saturday ;  and  after 
walking  for  some  time  in  search  of  the  beauties  of 
my  old  favourite  town,  I  came  to  a  singular  street,  with 
two  long  ranges  of  high,  sombre,  and  sinister-looking 
houses,  clinging  to  each  other,  as  it  were,  in  terror. 
Not  a  door  was  open,  not  a  window  that  not  was  secured 
with  iron  gratings.  There  was  no  singing,  no  merry  voices ; 
no,  a  dismal  silence  reigned  over  all.  One  or  two  men 
passed,  who  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  suspicion  and 
discontent,  and  through  the  bars  of  iron  of  the  third-floor 
windows  I  observed  several  females,  whose  countenances 
were  of  a  brown  colour,  and  who  looked  with  stealth  to 
see  who  was  passing.  I  was  in  the  street  of  the  Jews  ;  it 
was  their  Sabbath. 

At  Frankfort  there  are  still  Jews  and  Christians,  —  true 
Christians  who  hate  the  Jews,  and  Jews  who  hate  the 
Christians. 

Both  parties  avoid  and  execrate  each  other.  Our  civil- 
ization, which  holds  all  ideas  in  equilibrium  and  tends  to 
banish  prejudice,  cannot  understand  why  strangers  should 


284  THE  KHINE. 

look  at  one  another  with  such  hateful  glances.  The  Jews 
live  in  their  lonely  houses,  situated  in  the  most  retired 
courts,  in  order  to  avoid  breathing  the  same  air  as 
Christians.  Twelve  years  ago  this  Jewish  street,  rebuilt 
and  somewhat  enlarged  in  1662,  had  still  at  its  two 
extremities  iron  gates,  furnished  with  bars  and  bolts 
exteriorly  and  interiorly.  At  nightfall  the  Jews  returned 
home,  and  the  two  gates  were  locked.  They  were  bolted 
on  the  outside  as  if  those  within  were  plague-stricken ; 
and  those  within  barricaded  themselves  as  if  they  were 
besieged  by  those  outside.  The  street  of  the  Jews  is  not 
a  street ;  it  is  a  city  within  a  city. 

After  issuing  from  the  street  of  the  Jews,  I  found 
myself  in  the  old  city.  I  made  my  entrance  into 
Frankfort. 

Frankfort  is  the  city  of  the  caryatides.  Nowhere  have 
I  seen  so  many  colossal  porters  as  at  Frankfort.  It 
would  be  impossible  to  torture  marble,  bronze,  stone,  and 
wood  with  a  richer  invention  or  a  more  varied  cruelty. 
Whichever  way  we  turn,  statues  of  all  epochs,  of  all 
styles,  and  of  all  sexes  are  sure  to  meet  the  eye,  —  horned 
satyrs,  nymphs,  dwarfs,  giants,  sphinxes,  dragons,  devils ; 
in  fact,  an  unfortunate  world  of  supernatural  beings  is  to 
be  seen  here.  Some  bear  balconies,  others  turrets  ;  and  the 
most  oppressed  of  all  have  to  support  houses,  and  others 
raise  up  on  their  shoulders  insolent  bronze  negroes  clad 
in  robes  of  gilt  tin,  or  an  immense  Eoman  emperor  in 
stone  in  all  the  pomp  of  the  costume  of  Louis  XIV., 
including  wig,  mantle,  arm-chair,  estrade,  the  table  with 
the   crown,   the   canopy   with    its   draperies,   a   colossal 


FRANKFORT.  285 

machine  representing  an  engraving  by  Audran,  com- 
pletely reproduced  in  a  monolith  twenty  feet  high. 
These  prodigious  monuments  are  signs  for  inns.  Under 
these  Titanic  burdens  the  caryatides  bend  in  all  the 
postures  of  rage,  grief,  and  weariness.  Some  lower  their 
heads,  others  half  turn  round ;  others  place  their  clinched 
hands  on  their  hips,  or  squeeze  their  swollen  chests, 
%vhich  are  ready  to  burst.  Yonder  is  a  scornful  Hercules 
that  lifts  up  a  house  six  stories  high  with  one  shoulder 
while  he  shakes  the  hand  that  is  free  in  the  face  of  the 
public.  There  are  humpbacked  Vulcans,  supporting  one 
another  with  their  knees,  or  unhappy  Sirens  whose 
scaly  tails  are  frightfully  crushed  between  stones,  or 
angry  Chimseras  biting  each  other  with  fury ;  other 
figures  weeping,  others  laughing  with  a  bitter  laugh, 
others  making  fearful  grimaces  at  the  passers-by.  I 
noticed  that  many  of  the  tap-rooms,  re-echoing  to  the 
clink  of  glasses,  are  built  on  caryatides.  The  free 
burghers  of  Frankfort  would  seem  to  take  a  delight  in 
piling  their  goods  and  chattels  on  these  much  enduring 
statues.  The  most  horrible  nightmare  that  could  visit 
the  good  folk  of  Frankfort  would  not  be  the  invasion  of 
the  Russians,  nor  the  irruption  of  the  French,  nor  a 
European  war  desolating  the  land,  nor  the  old  religious 
wars  renewing  their  ravages  in  the  fourteen  quarters  of 
the  city,  nor  typhus,  nor  cholera  ;  it  would  be  the  revolt, 
the  unchaining,  the  vengence  of  the  caryatides  ! 

One  of  the  curiosities  of  Frankfort  is  the  Slaughter- 
house. It  is  impossible  to  see  older  and  blacker  houses 
decorated  with  more  splendid  legs  of  mutton  and  loins 


286  THE  RHINE. 

of  beef.  Gluttonous  and  jovial-looking  figures  are  curi- 
ously sculptured  upon  the  fa(^ades ;  and  the  openings  of 
the  ground-floors  seem  like  huge  mouths,  ready  to  devour 
innumerable  cattle,  either  living  or  dead.  The  blood- 
bedaubed  butcher  chats  freely  with  the  rosy-cheeked 
houcMres  under  garlands  of  gigots  and  before  a  red 
stream,  on  which  two  fountains  are  playing,  as  it  runs 
smoking  through  the  middle  of  the  street.  When  I  was 
there,  frightful  cries  were  heard  in  all  directions,  —  it  was  a 
massacre  of  sucking-pigs  that  was  taking  place.  Servants 
with  baskets  on  their  arms  were  laughing  amidst  the 
general  uproar,  and  casting  amorous  looks  towards  some 
stalwart  youths,  with  knives  in  their  hands,  who  were 
ready  to  obey  the  demands  of  their  customers  ;  here,  some 
bargaining ;  there,  others  quarrelling.  A  butcher  passed 
carrying  a  sucking-pig  by  the  hind  legs,  which  I  would 
have  purchased  had  I  known  what  to  do  with  it.  The 
poor  little  creature  squeaked  not ;  it  was  ignorant  of  its 
impending  fate,  and  knew  not  what  was  about  to  take 
place.  A  pretty  little  girl  about  four  years  of  age 
was  looking  at  it  with  compassion,  and  seemed  to 
beseech  me  with  her  soft  eyes  to  purchase  the  little 
thing  and  save  it  from  immediate  death.  I  did  not  do 
what  that  charming  eye  told  me ;  I  disobeyed  her 
demand,  so  sweetly  expressed  ;  but  I  reproached  myself 
afterwards  for  not  gratifying  the  wishes  of  that  innocent 
child. 

After  leaving  the  Slaughter-house,  we  enter  a  large 
square,  worthy  of  Flanders,  and  which  excites  the  curi- 
osity of  all  travellers.     It   comprises   all   the  styles  of 


TWO  FOUNTAINS.  287 

architecture  of  the  Eenaissance,  and  is  ornamented  accord- 
ing to  the  taste  of  that  epoch.  Near  the  middle  of  the 
square  are  two  fountains,  —  the  one  of  the  Eenaissance,  and 
the  other  of  the  eighteenth  century,  —  upon  the  tops  of 
which  are  the  staues  of  Minerva  and  Judith  (the  Homeric 
and  Biblical  viragos),  the  former  bearing  the  head  of  Me- 
dusa, the  latter  that  of  Holofernes.  Judith  —  beautiful, 
haughty,  and  charming,  surrounded  by  four  sirens  who 
blow  trumpets  at  her  feet  —  is  a  heroic  maiden  of  the  Ee- 
naissance ;  she  no  longer  holds  the  head  of  Holofernes, 
which  she  used  to  bear  in  her  left  hand,  but  she  still  has 
the  sword  in  her  right,  and  her  robe,  ruffled  by  the 
wind,  rises  above  her  marble  knee  and  discloses  one  of 
the  finest  and  firmest  carved  legs  that  can  be  seen 
anywhere. 

Some  critics  insist  that  this  statue  represents  Justice, 
and  that  what  she  held  in  her  hand  was  not  the  head 
of  Holofernes,  but  a  balance.  I  attach  no  value  to  this 
opinion.  A  Justice  with  the  balance  in  her  left  hand 
and  the  sword  in  her  right  would  be  Injustice.  Beside, 
Justice  has  no  right  to  be  so  pretty  nor  to  wear  so 
short  a  petticoat. 

Opposite  to  this  figure  rise  the  three  gables  of  the 
Eoemer  with  their  black  dial  and  their  five  severe 
windows  of  unequal  height.  It  was  in  the  Eoemer  that 
the  emperors  were  elected,  ana  in  this  square  that  they 
were  proclaimed.  It  was  also  in  this  square  that  were 
held  and  are  still  held  the  two  famous  fairs  of  Frankfort, 
—  the  September  fair,  instituted  in  1240  by  letters-patent 
of  Frederick  IL,  and  the  Easter  fair,  established  in  1330 


288  THE   RHINE. 

by   Louis   of   Bavaria.     These   fairs   have   survived  the 
emperors  and  the  empire. 

I  now  entered  the  Eoemer,  and  after  roaming  about 
without  meeting  any  one  in  a  wide  hall  with  low  arched 
ceiling,  already  encumbered  with  stalls  for  the  fair,  I 
ascended  a  broad  staircase  with  balustrade  after  the 
style  of  Louis  XIIL,  adorned  with  some  poor  pictures 
without  frames ;  then  I  groped  along  a  number  of  corri- 
dors and  dark  passages,  and  by  dint  of  knocking  at 
several  doors  I  at  last  discovered  an  old  woman,  who, 
when  she  heard  me  utter  the  word  Kaisersaal,  took  a 
key  from  a  nail  in  her  kitchen  and  led  me  to  the  Hall 
of  the  Emperors.  The  good  woman  smilingly  conducted 
me  first  into  the  old  Hall  of  the  Electors,  —  to-day,  if  I 
mistake  not,  the  place  where  the  high  and  mighty  Senate 
of  Frankfort  holds  its  sessions.  It  was  here  that  the 
electors,  or  their  delegates,  declared  the  emperor  King 
of  the  Eomans.  On  an  arm-chair  between  the  two 
windows,  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence  presided.  Next 
came  in  order,  seated  around  an  immense  table  covered 
with  yellow  leather,  the  electors  of  Treves,  Bohemia,  and 
Saxony,  on  the  right  of  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence ;  the 
electors  of  Cologne,  the  Palatinate,  and  Brandenburg  on 
his  left,  and  those  of  Brunswick  and  Bavaria  in  front. 
The  traveller  experiences  the  feeling  produced  by  simple 
things  that  in  themselves  contain  great  things,  when  he 
sees  and  touches  the  reddish,  dusty  covering  of  this 
table  around  which  the  German  kaisar  was  chosen. 
With  the  exception  of  the  table,  which  has  been  trans- 
ported into  a  neighbouring  room,  the  Hall  of  the  Electors 


THE  ROEMER,  289 

is  to-day  in  the  same  condition  in  which  it  was  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  nine  escutcheons  on  the 
ceiling,  surrounding  a  poor  fresco ;  red  damask  tapestry ; 
old  silver-plated  candelabra  representing  figures  of  Fame  ; 
a  large  mirror  between  twisted  pillars,  and  opposite  it 
a  full-length  portrait  of.  Joseph  II ;  above  the  door  a 
portrait  of  the  last  of  the  grandsons  of  Charlemagne, 
who  died  in  910,  just  as  he  was  about  to  reign,  and 
called  by  the  Germans  "  the  child,"  —  such  are  all  the 
adornments  of  this  memorable  hall.  The  whole  has  an 
austere,  serious,  and  quiet  aspect  that  induces  you  to 
meditate  rather  than  to  observe. 

After  the  Hall  of  the  Electors.  I  examined  the  Hall 
of  the  Emperors. 

In  the  fourteenth  century,  the  Lombard  merchants 
who  have  left  their  names  to  the  Eoemer,  and  who  used 
to  keep  their  counters  there,  took  it  into  their  heads  to 
surround  the  grand  hall  with  niches  for  the  display  of 
their  merchandise.  An  architect  whose  name  is  lost 
constructed  forty-five  of  them  around  the  hall.  In  1564, 
Maximilian  II.  was  elected  at  Frankfort  and  shown  to 
the  people  from  the  balcony  of  this  hall,  which  from 
that  time  was  called  the  Kaisersaal,  and  served  for  the 
proclamation  of  the  emperors.  Then  it  was  thought 
necessary  to  decorate  it,  and  the  first  idea  was  to  install 
the  statues  of  all  the  German  Caesars  who  had  been 
elected  and  crowned  since  the  extinction  of  the  race 
of  Charlemagne  in  these  niches,  reserving  such  as 
were  vacant  for  future  Caesars.  From  Conrad  I.,  in  911, 
to  Ferdinand  I.,  in  1556,  thirty-six  emperors  had  been 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  19 


290  THE   RHINE. 

consecrated  at  Aix-la-Chapelle.  After  adding  to  them 
the  new  King  of  the  Eomans,  there  remained  but  eight 
empty  niches.  These  hardly  seemed  enough.  Still,  the 
project  was  executed,  with  the  proviso  that  the  hall 
should  be  enlarged  if  necessary.  The  niches  were 
furnished  with  their  tenants  at  the  rate  of  about  four 
emperors  a  century.  When  Joseph  II.  ascended  the 
imperial  throne  in  1764,  only  one  niche  was  vacant. 
Then  there  was  a  serious  intention  to  make  additions 
to  the  niches  prepared  five  centuries  before  by  the  archi- 
tects of  the  Lombard  merchants.  In  1794,  Francis 
II.,  the  forty-fifth  King  of  the  Eomans,  occupied  the 
forty-fifth  niche.  When  the  hall  was  full,  the  German 
empire  crumbled  to  pieces. 

The  unknown  architect  was  destiny.  This  mysterious 
hall  with  the  forty-five  recesses  is  the  very  history  of 
Germany,  which  after  the  extinction  of  the  race  of 
Charlemagne  was  fated  to  contain  forty-five  emperors 
and  no  more. 

There,  in  fact,  in  that  oblong  hall,  vast,  cold,  and 
almost  dark ;  encumbered  at  one  of  its  corners  with 
lumber,  among  which  is  the  leather-covered  table  of 
the  electors ;  scarcely  lighted  at  its  eastern  extremity 
by  the  five  narrow  unequal  windows,  which  form  a  sort 
of  pyramid  to  harmonize  with  the  exterior  gable ;  between 
four  high  walls  loaded  with  defaced  frescos  ;  under  a 
wooden  vault  with  groinings  once  gilt ;  alone,  in  a  kind 
of  half-shadow  that  resembles  the  beginning  of  oblivion ; 
all  rudely  painted  and  represented  in  busts  of  bronze 
whose  pedestals  bear  the  two  dates  that  open  and  close 


THE  ROEMER.  291 

each  reign  ;  some  crowned  with  laurel  like  Roman  Caesars, 
others  wearing  the  Germanic  diadem,  —  there  gaze  upon 
each  other  in  silence,  each  in  his  gloomy  ogive,  the  three 
Conrads,  the  seven  Henrys,  the  four  Othos,  one  Lothaire, 
four  Fredericks,  one  Philip,  two  Eodolfs,  one  Adolphus, 
two  Alberts,  one  Louis,  four  Charleses,  one  Wenceslaus, 
one  Robert,  one  Sigismund,  two  Maximilians,  three 
Ferdinands,  one  Mathias,  two  Leopolds,  two  Josephs, 
two  Francises :  forty-five  phantoms  that  during  nine 
centuries,  from  911  to  1806,  have  crossed  the  history 
of  the  world,  with  the  sword  of  Saint  Peter  in  one  hand 
and  the  globe  of  Charlemagne  in  the  other. 

At  the  extremity  opposite  the  five  windows  is  a 
mediocre  painting  representing  the  judgment  of  Solomon, 
now  grown  black  and  faded. 

When  the  electors  had  finally  chosen  the  emperor,  the 
Senate  of  Frankfort  assembled  in  that  hall,  the  burghers, 
divided  into  fourteen  sections  according  to  the  fourteen 
quarters  of  the  city,  met  in  the  square  outside.  Then 
the  five  windows  of  the  Kaisersaal  facing  the  people 
opened.  The  great  window  in  the  centre  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  canopy  and  remained  empty.  At  the 
middle  window  on  the  right,  adorned  with  an  iron 
balcony  from  which  I  had  a  view  of  the  main  street  of 
Mayence,  the  emperor  appeared  alone  in  his  imperial 
robes  and  crown.  He  had  the  three  electors  of  Mayence, 
Treves,  and  Cologne  on  his  right,  gathered  together  at 
the  little  window.  At  two  other  windows  on  the  left 
of  the  great  unoccupied  window  were  the  electors  of 
Bohemia,    Bavaria,  the   Palatinate,    Saxony,    Brunswick, 


292  THE   RHINE. 

and  Brandenburg.  In  the  square,  just  in  front  of  the 
facade  of  the  Eoemer,  there  were  a  large  heap  of  corn, 
an  urn  full  of  gold  and  silver  coin,  a  table  bearing  a 
silver  ewer  and  a  bottle,  and  another  table  upon  which 
was  an  ox  roasted  whole ;  all  these  objects  were  sur- 
rounded by  guards.  As  soon  as  the  emperor  made  his 
appearance  there  was  a  flourish  of  trumpets  and  a  clash 
of  cymbals,  and  the  archmarshal  of  the  Holy  Empire,  the 
archchancellor,  the  archcupbearer,  the  arch  treasurer, 
and  the  archcarver  entered  the  square  in  solemn  pro- 
cession. Amid  the  acclamations  of  the  crowd  and  the 
roar  of  trumpets,  the  archmarshal  spurred  his  steed 
into  the  heap  of  corn  up  to  the  saddle-girth,  and  filled 
a  silver  vessel ;  the  archchancellor  took  the  ewer  from 
the  table ;  the  archcupbearer  filled  the  bottle  with  wine 
and  water ;  the  archtreasurer  took  money  from  the  urn 
and  flung  it  among  the  people  in  handfuls  ;  the  arch- 
carver  cut  a  slice  of  roast  beef.  At  this  moment  the 
grand  prebendary  arose,  proclaimed  the  emperor  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  read  the  oath  to  the  people.  When  he 
had  finished,  the  Senate  in  the  hall  and  the  burghers 
in  the  square  gravely  answered,  "Yes."  During  the 
taking  of  the  oath,  the  new  emperor,  now  a  formidable 
personage,  took  up  the  crown  and  grasped  the  sword. 
From  1564  to  1794,  this  hall  now  ignored  and  this 
square  now  deserted  beheld  this  majestic  ceremony 
nine  times. 

The  great  offices  of  the  empire,  which  belonged  by  in- 
heritance to  the  electors,  were  filled  by  delegates.  In  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  secondary  monarchies  considered  it  highly 


THE  COLLEGIAL  CHURCH.  293 

honourable  as  well  as  politic  to  occupy  the  great  offices  of 
the  two  empires,  which  had  taken  the  place  of  the  Eoman 
Empire.  Each  prince  gravitated  towards  the  imperial 
centre  nearest  to  him.  The  King  of  Bohemia  was  archcup- 
bearer  to  the  German  emperor ;  the  Doge  of  Venice  was 
protospatary  to  the  Emperor  of  the  East. 

After  the  proclamation  in  the  Eoemer  came  the  corona- 
tion at  the  collegial  church. 

I  have  followed  in  the  track  of  the  ancient  ceremonial. 
After  leaving  the  Kaisersaal,  I  entered  the  church. 

The  collegial  church  of  Frankfort,  dedicated  to  Saint 
Bartholomew,  is  composed  of  a  double  crossed  nave  of 
the  fourteenth  century,  surmounted  by  a  fine  tower  of  the 
fifteenth,  unfortunately  still  unfinished.  The  church  and 
tower  are  of  a  fine  red  gritstone  blackened  by  age.  The 
interior  alone  is  plastered. 

This  is  another  example  of  a  Belgian  church.  White 
walls,  no  stained  glass,  but  a  rich  collection  of  sculptured 
altars,  coloured  tombs,  pictures,  and  bas-reliefs.  In  the 
naves  are  austere  marble  knights,  mustachioed  bishops  of 
the  time  of  Gustavus  Adolphus  with  the  air  of  lansquenets, 
admirable  niches  looking  as  if  they  must  have  been  wrought 
by  fairies,  magnificent  copper  lamps  reminding  one  of  the 
lamp  of  the  Alchemist  in  Gerard  Dow's  picture,  a  "  Christ 
at  the  Tomb  "  painted  in  the  fourteenth  century,  and  a 
"  Virgin  at  the  Bed  of  Death  "  carved  in  the  fifteenth.  In 
the  choir  may  be  seen  some  curious  frescos,  horrible  with 
their  Saint  Bartholomew,  charming  with  their  Magdalen  ; 
a  rough  piece  of  wood-carving  of  about  the  year  1400 ; 
woodwork  and  frescos  given  by  the  Knight  of  Ingelheim, 


294  THE   RHINE. 

who  has  had  himself  painted  in  a  corner  with  his  escutch- 
eon or,  chevrons  gides.  On  the  walls  there  is  a  com- 
plete collection  of  those  fantastic  morions  and  frightful 
crests  peculiar  to  German  chivalry,  hanging  from  nails  on 
the  walls  like  so  many  saucepans  and  kettles.  Near  the 
door  is  one  of  those  enormous  clocks  which  may  be  com- 
pared to  a  house  of  two  stories,  a  book  of  three  volumes, 
a  poem  in  twenty  cantos ;  it  is  a  world  in  itself.  Its 
brow  bears  a  diurnal  dial  on  a  broad  Flemish  fronton  ;  at 
the  bottom,  in  the  depths  of  a  species  of  cavern  in  which 
move  numberless  thick  threads  which  might  be  taken  for 
the  antennae  of  monstrous  insects,  revolves  mysteriously 
the  dial  of  the  year.  The  hours  turn  round  above ;  the 
seasons,  below.  The  sun  in  the  glory  of  his  gilded  rays, 
the  moon,  white  and  black,  the  stars  on  a  blue  ground, 
perform  complicated  evolutions  which  act  at  the  other 
end  of  the  clock  on  a  system  of  little  pictures  where 
scholars  skate,  old  men  warm  themselves,  peasants  cut 
corn,  and  shepherdesses  pick  flowers.  Maxims  and  sen- 
tences which  have  somewhat  lost  their  varnish  shine  in  a 
sky  lit  by  stars  that  have  somewhat  lost  their  gilding. 
Each  time  the  hands  point  to  the  hour,  doors  open  and 
close  on  the  fronton  of  the  clock,  and  figures  armed  with 
hammers,  abruptly  issuing  forth  or  returning,  strike  the 
hours  on  a  bell,  at  the  same  time  executing  odd  little 
pirouettes.  All  this  mechanism  lives,  palpitates,  and  roars 
in  the  very  walls  of  the  church  with  some  such  noise  as 
a  whale  might  make  shut  up  in  the  big  tun  of  Heidelberg, 
The  church  possesses  an  admirable  Crucifixion  of  Van 
Dyke.      Albert  Diirer  and  Eubens  have  each  a  picture 


FRANKFORT.  295 

on  the  same  subject,  —  Christ  on  the  knees  of  the  Virgin. 
The  subject  is  the  same  in  appearance,  but  the  two  pictures 
are  very  different.  Kubens  has  placed  on  the  knees  of 
the  Divine  mother  a  child-Jesus  ;  Albert  Dlirer,  a  Christ 
crucified.  Nothing  equals  the  grace  of  the  first  figure,  if 
it  be  not  the  anguish  of  the  second.  Each  of  the  two 
painters  has  followed  his  genius.  Eubens  has  chosen  life, 
Dlirer  death. 

Another  picture  in  which  anguish  and  grace  are  mingled 
is  a  precious  painting  on  leather  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
representing  the  interior  of  the  sepulchre  of  Saint  Cecilia. 
The  frame  is  composed  of  the  principal  incidents  in  the 
life  of  the  saint.  In  the  middle,  under  a  gloomy  crypt, 
the  saint  is  lying  at  full  length  on  her  face,  in  her  golden 
robe,  with  the  gash  made  by  the  axe  in  her  neck, — a  rosy 
and  delicate  wound  resembling  a  charming  mouth  which 
one  would  like  to  kiss  kneeling.  You  seem  to  hear  the 
voice  of  the  holy  songstress  issue  forth  and  sing,  "  por  la 
boca  de  su  herida."  Beneath  the  bier  is  written  in  letters 
of  gold, — 

En  tibi  sanctissimse  virginis  Cecilise  in  sepulchre  jacentis  imagi- 
nem,  prorsus  eodem  corporis  situ  expressara. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  a  pope  (Leo  X.,  I  believe) 
caused  the  tomb  of  Saint  Cecilia  to  be  opened,  and  this 
delightful  painting  is  said  to  be  an  exact  reproduction  of 
the  miraculous  body. 

It  was  in  the  centre  of  the  collegial  church,  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  choir,  at  the  point  of  intersection  of  transept 
and  nave,  that  the  emperors  who  succeeded  Maximilian  11. 


296  THE  KHINE. 

were  crowned.  I  saw  in  a  corner  of  the  transept  the 
immense  gilt  imperial  crown,  wrapped  up  in  grey  paper, 
which  was  suspended  above  their  heads  during  the  cere- 
mony ;  and  this  reminded  me  that,  a  year  before,  I  had 
seen  the  carpet  wrought  with  fieur-de-lis  used  at  the 
coronation  of  Charles  X.  tied  up  and  forgotten  in  a  wheel- 
barrow in  the  lumber  room  of  the  cathedral  of  Eheims. 
To  the  right  of  the  spot  where  the  emperor  was  crowned, 
the  Gothic  wood-carving  complacently  exhibits  the  fol- 
lowing antithesis  wrought  in  oak:  Saint  Bartholomew 
skinned  alive,  carrying  his  skin  on  his  arm  and  disdain- 
fully looking  over  his  left  shoulder  at  the  devil  perched 
on  a  magnificent  pyramid  of  mitres,  diadems,  helmets, 
tiaras,  sceptres,  swords,  and  crowns.  A  little  farther  on, 
the  new  emperor  could,  from  behind  the  tapestries  where 
he  was  doubtless  concealed,  get  a  glimpse  at  moments  of 
that  sinister  apparition,  the  stone  image  of  the  unfortunate 
pseudo-emperor  Gunther  of  Schwarzburg,  standing  in  the 
shadow  against  the  wall,  with  fatality  and  hate  in  his 
eyes,  holding  with  one  arm  his  shield  with  the  lion  ram- 
pant, and  in  the  other  his  imperial  morion.  A  proud  and 
terrible  tomb  this,  which  during  two  hundred  and  thirty 
years  has  witnessed  the  enthronement  of  emperors,  and 
whose  gloomy  granite  figure  has  survived  all  those  cele- 
brations of  painted  pasteboard  and  gilt  wood. 

I  now  desired  to  ascend  the  steeple.  The  glockner  who 
had  conducted  me  through  the  church,  and  who  did  not 
know  a  word  of  French,  left  me  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
and  I  mounted  alone.  When  I  reached  the  top,  I  found 
myself  intercepted  by  a  barrier  of  iron  spikes ;  I  called, 


FRANKFORT.  297 

but  received  no  answer ;   whereupon  I  decided  to  climb 
over,  and  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  Pfarrthurm. 

The  view  here  was  charming.  Over  my  head  was  a 
lovely  sun  ;  at  my  feet  the  town  of  Frankfort ;  to  my  left, 
the  Eoemer  ;  and  to  my  right,  the  black  and  narrow  street 
of  the  Jews.  Whilst  buried  in  a  profound  reverie,  the 
clouds  gathered  above  me,  and  chased  by  the  wind,  rolled 
about  the  heavens,  covering  and  uncovering  at  each  in- 
stant shreds  of  azure,  while  heavy  drops  of  rain  began  to 
fall  upon  the  earth,  and  lightning  to  flash  from  the  heavens. 
I  thought  I  was  alone  upon  the  tower,  and  would  have  re- 
mained there  all  day,  but  suddenly  a  rustling  noise  startled 
me,  and  on  looking  round  I  perceived  a  young  girl  about 
fourteen  years  of  age  looking  at  me  from  a  small  window. 
I  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  after  passing  the  angle  of  the 
Pfarrthurm,  I  found  myself  amongst  the  inhabitants  of  the 
steeple,  —  a  little  world,  smiling  and  happy.  A  young  girl 
was  knitting ;  an  old  woman,  probably  her  mother,  spin- 
ning ;  doves  were  cooing  on  the  top  of  the  steeple ;  and  an 
hospitable  monkey,  on  perceiving  me,  extended  its  little 
paw  from  the  bottom  of  its  cage.  Add  to  this  the  peace  of 
elevated  places,  where  nothing  is  heard  but  the  murmuring 
of  the  winds,  and  from  whence  we  see  the  beauty  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  In  a  part  of  the  tower  the  old  woman 
had  made  a  fire,  on  which  she  was  cooking  a  humble  repast. 
How  this  little  family  came  there,  and  for  what  end,  I  do 
not  know  ;  but  they  interested  me  much.  This  proud  city, 
once  engaged  in  so  many  wars,  this  city  which  dethroned 
so  many  Cpesars,  this  city  whose  walls  were  like  an  armour, 
is  at  present  crowned  by  the  hearth  of  a  poor  old  woman. 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

THE   RHINE. 

Origin  of  Switzerland  and  of  the  Rhine.  —  Configuration  of  the  Rhine.  — 
Its  Banks  and  its  Towns.  —  Rafts  on  the  Rhine.  — Secret  Souvenirs.— 
Oberwerth. 

A  STEEAM  issues  from  Lake  Toma,  on  the  eastern 
■^~^  slope  of  Saint  Gothard ;  another  stream  issues  from 
another  lake  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Lucmanierberg ;  a 
third  stream  distils  from  a  glacier  and  decends  through 
rocks  from  a  height  of  six  thousand  feet.  At  fifteen 
leagues  from  their  sources,  these  streams  meet  at  the 
same  ravine,  near  Eeichenau.  There,  they  mingle.  Do 
you  not  admire,  my  friend,  the  powerful  and  simple 
fashion  in  which  Providence  produces  grand  results  ? 
Three  shepherds  meet,  and  we  have  a  nation ;  three 
streams  meet,  and  we  have  a  river. 

The  nation  sprang  into  existence  on  the  17th  of  No- 
vember, 1307,  during  the  night,  on  the  borders  of  a  lake 
where  three  shepherds  met  and  embraced  ;  it  stood  up- 
right, it  called  the  great  God  to  bear  witness,  who  makes 
peasants  and  Caesars,  and  then  ran  to  seize  flails  and 
pitchforks.  A  rustic  giant,  it  took  that  sovereign  giant 
the  Emperor  of  Germany  in  its  grip.  It  crushed  at 
Klissnacht  the  bailiff  Gessler,  who  would  have  it  adore 
his  cap ;  at  Sarnen,  the  bailiff  Landenberg,  who  put  out 
the  eyes  of  old  men ;  at  Thalewyl,  the  bailiff  Wolfen- 


THE  RHINE.  299 

schiess,  who  killed  women  with  an  axe ;  at  Morgarten, 
Duke  Leopold  ;  at  Morat,  Cliarles  the  Bold.  It  buried 
under  the  hill  of  Buttisholz  the  three  thousand  English- 
men of  Enguerrand  de  Coucy.  It  held  at  bay  the  four 
formidable  enemies  that  came  against  it  from  the  four 
cardinal  points :  at  Sempach  it  beat  the  Duke  of  Austria ; 
at  Granson,  the  Duke  of  Burgundy ;  at  Chillon,  the  Duke 
of  Savoy ;  at  Novara,  the  Duke  of  Milan ;  and  let  us 
note  by  the  way,  that  at  Novara,  in  1513,  the  Duke  of 
Milan  was  duke  by  the  right  of  the  sword,  and  was 
called  Louis  XIIL,  King  of  France.  It  hung  from  a 
nail  in  its  arsenals  above  its  peasant  garb,  beside  the 
chains  destined  for  it,  the  splendid  ducal  caparisons  of 
vanquished  princes  ;  it  had  great  citizens,  —  William  Tell, 
first,  then  the  three  liberators,  then  Peter  Colin  and  Gun- 
doldingen,  who  left  their  blood  on  the  banner  of  their 
city,  and  Conrad  Baumgarten  and  Scharnachthal  and 
Winkelried,  who  cast  themselves  on  the  pikes,  as  Curtius 
did  into  the  gulf ;  it  struggled  at  Bellinzona  for  the  in- 
violability of  the  soil,  and  at  Cappel  for  the  inviolability 
of  the  conscience ;  it  lost  Zwingli  in  1531,  but  it  deliv- 
ered Bonnivard  in  1536,  and  has  since  maintained  its 
ground  and  accomplished  its  destiny  between  the  four 
colossuses  of  the  continent ;  it  has  remained  firm,  solid, 
impenetrable,  the  nucleus  of  civilization,  the  asylum  of 
science,  the  refuge  of  thought,  a  barrier  to  unjust  aggres- 
sion, a  support  to  legitimate  resistance.  For  six  hundred 
years,  in  the  centre  of  Europe,  on  a  rugged  soil,  under 
the  eye  of  a  benevolent  Providence,  these  great  moun- 
taineers, worthy  sons  of    these  great  mountains,  grave, 


300  THE  RHINE. 

cold,  serene  as  they,  submissive  to  necessity,  jealous  of 
their  independence,  in  presence  of  absolute  monarchies, 
idle  aristocracies,  and  envious  democracies,  have  lived 
the  lives  of  freemen,  practising  at  the  same  time  the 
first  of  rights,  liberty,  and  the  first  of  duties,  labour. 

The  Ehine  issues  forth  from  between  two  walls  of 
granite.  It  takes  a  leap  and  meets  at  Andeer,  a  Eoman 
village,  the  memory  of  Charlemagne ;  at  Coire,  the 
ancient  Curia,  the  memory  of  Drusus ;  at  Feldkirch  the 
memory  of  Massena ;  then,  as  if  consecrated  for  the  des- 
tinies that  await  it  by  this  triple  baptism,  —  German, 
Eoman,  and  French, —  leaving  the  mind  undecided  between 
its  Greek  etymology  of  'Peeiv,  and  its  German  etymology 
of  Rinnen,  which  also  signifies  to  flow,  it  flows  indeed ; 
it  clears  both  forest  and  mountain,  reaches  Lake  Con- 
tance,  leaps  down  at  Schaffhausen,  winds  round  the 
hindmost  slopes  of  the  Jura,  coasts  the  Vosges,  pierces 
the  chain  of  the  extinct  volcanoes  of  the  Taunus,  trav- 
erses the  plains  of  Friesland,  inundates  the  low  bottoms 
of  Holland;  and  after  hollowing  through  rocks,  lava, 
sand,  and  reeds  a  tortuous  ravine  of  two  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  leagues  ;  after  sending  through  the  great 
European  ant-hill  the  perpetual  murmur  of  its  waves, 
which  sounds  like  the  eternal  quarrel  between  north  and 
south  ;  after  receiving  its  twelve  thousand  tributaries, 
watering  a  hundred  and  fourteen  cities,  separating,  or 
rather  dividing,  eleven  nations,  rolling  in  its  foam  and 
mingling  with  its  noise  the  history  of  thirty  centuries 
and  thirty  peoples,  —  it  is  lost  in  the  sea.  A  Protean  river 
this,  the  belt  of  empires,  the  limit  of  ambitions,  the  curb 


THE  RHINE.  301 

of  conquerors,  the  serpent  of  the  emormous  caduceus 
which  the  God  of  Commerce  stretches  over  Europe,  the 
grace  and  ornament  of  the  globe,  the  long,  green  tress  of 
the  Alps  trailing  even  to  the  ocean. 

Thus,  through  three  shepherds  and  three  streams, 
Switzerland  and  the  Ehine  have  their  origin  in  the 
same  fashion  in  the  same  mountains. 

The  Rhine  assumes  all  aspects,  —  at  one  time  broad, 
then  narrow ;  it  is  transparent,  tranquil,  and  rapid ;  it 
is  a  torrent  at  Schajffhausen,  a  gulf  at  Laufen,  a  river  at 
Sickingen,  a  flood  at  Mayence,  a  lake  at  Saint  Goar,  and 
a  marsh  at  Leyden. 

The  Rhine  is  calm,  at  least  towards  evening,  and  ap- 
pears as  if  sleeping,  —  a  phenomenon  more  apparent 
than  real,  and  which  is  visible  upon  all  great  rivers. 

I  have  said  somewhere  that  unity  in  variety  is  the 
principle  of  all  perfect  art.  Under  this  relation  Nature 
is  the  greatest  artist  of  all.  She  never  abandons  a 
form  without  having  made  that  form  pass  through  all 
its  logarithms.  No  two  things  resemble  each  other  less 
in  appearance  than  a  tree  and  a  river ;  at  bottom,  how- 
ever, the  tree  and  the  river  have  the  same  generative 
principle.  Examine,  in  winter,  a  tree  despoiled  of  its 
leaves,  and  suppose  it  lying  flat  on  the  ground ;  you  will 
then  have  the  aspect  of  a  river  seen  from  a  bird's-eye 
view.  The  trunk  will  be  the  river ;  the  main  branches 
will  be  the  estuaries  ;  the  smaller  branches  and  the  twigs 
will  be  the  torrents,  streams,  and  sources ;  the  extension 
of  the  root  will  be  the  embouchure.  All  rivers,  seen  on 
a  map,  are  trees  bearing  cities,  sometimes  at   the  ex- 


302  THE  RHINE. 

tremities  of  tlie  branches,  as  fruit,  sometimes  between 
two  branches  as  nests ;  and  their  numberless  confluents 
and  affluents  imitate,  according  to  the  inclination  of 
their  currents  or  the  slope  of  the  soil,  the  different 
branchings  of  the  various  vegetable  species,  which,  as 
it  is  known,  have  their  shoots  more  or  less  separated 
from  the  stem,  according  to  the  special  strength  of  their 
sap  or  the  density  of  their  wood.  It  is  worthy  of  notice 
that  if  we  look  at  the  Ehine  from  this  point  of  view, 
the  idea  of  royalty  which  seems  to  cling  to  this  vigorous 
river  is  capable  of  being  vindicated.  The  Y  of  almost 
all  the  affluents  of  the  Ehine,  Murg,  Neckar,  Mein,  Nahe, 
Lahn,  Moselle,  and  Aar,  has  an  opening  of  about  ninety 
degrees.  Bingen,  Neiderlahnstein,  and  Coblentz  are  in 
right  angles.  If  you  can  conceive  by  your  imagination 
the  immense  geometrical  silhouette  of  the  river  standing 
up,  the  Ehine  will  appear  bearing  all  its  streams  like 
outstretched  arms,  and  will  have  the  figure  of  an  oak. 
The  numberless  streams  into  which  it  is  divided  before 
reaching  the  ocean  have  the  forms  of  roots  exposed  to 
view. 

The  part  of  the  Ehine  the  most  celebrated  and  admired, 
the  most  curious  for  the  historian,  and  the  loveliest  for 
the  poet,  is  that  which  traverses,  from  Bingen  to  Konigs- 
winter,  that  dark  chaos  of  volcanic  mounds  which  the 
Eomans  termed  the  Alpes  of  the  Catti. 

From  Mayence  to  Bingen,  as  from  Kbnigswinter  to 
Cologne,  there  are  seven  leagues  of  rich  smiling  plains, 
with  handsome  villages,  on  the  river's  brink;  but  the 
great  encaissement  of  the  Ehine  begins  at  Bingen  by  the 


THE  RHINE.  303 

Eupertsberg  and  Niederwald,  and  terminates  at  Konigs- 
winter  at  the  base  of  the  Seven  Mountains. 

There  all  is  beautiful ;  the  gloomy  precipices  of  the 
two  banks  are  mirrored  in  the  deep  pools  of  the  water. 
The  steepness  of  the  declivities  causes  the  vine  to  be  cul- 
tivated on  the  Ehine  in  the  same  fashion  in  which  the 
olive  is  cultivated  on  the  coasts  of  Provence.  Wherever 
the  rocks  are  high  enough  to  catch  the  sunbeams,  the 
peasant  carries  sacks  and  baskets  of  earth.  In  this  earth 
he  plants  an  olive  in  Provence,  a  slip  of  vine  on  the  Ehine. 
Then  he  props  the  soil  with  a  rampart  of  uncemented 
stones  that  holds  the  soil  in  and  lets  the  water  flow  free. 
"With  excess  of  caution  the  vintager  overlays  the  earth 
with  broken  slates  from  the  mountain,  so  that  the  rains 
may  not  carry  it  away.  And  so,  on  the  sides  of  the 
most  precipitous  rocks,  the  vine  of  the  Ehine,  like  the 
olive  of  the  Mediterranean,  grows  in  a  kind  of  bracket 
suspended  over  the  head  of  the  passer-by,  like  the  flower- 
pot in  an  attic.  Every  gentle  declivity  bristles  with  its 
vines. 

Still,  it  is  an  ungrateful  labour.  For  ten  years  the 
Ehinelanders  have  not  had  a  good  yield.  In  several 
places,  notably  at  Saint  Goarshausen,  in  the  county  of 
Nassau,  the  vineyards  have  been  abandoned. 

From  below,  all  these  ramparts  of  uncemented  stone, 
which  follow  the  innumerable  undulations  of  the  slope 
and  the  channels  of  the  rock,  assume  almost  always  the 
form  of  a  crescent  surmounted  by  a  green  fringe  of  vines, 
attached,  and  as  it  were  nailed,  to  the  projections  of  the 
mountain  by  their  two  ends  which  gradually  diminish, 


304  THE   RHINE. 

and  look  like  garlands  hanging  over  the  rugged  wall  of 
the  Ehine. 

In  winter,  when  vine  and  soil  are  black,  these  terraces 
of  a  dirty  grey  resemble  cobwebs  suspended  one  above 
the  other  in  the  corners  of  deserted  dwellings,  and  bear  a 
likeness  to  hideous  hammocks  for  the  reception  of  dust. 

At  each  turning  of  the  river,  a  group  of  houses  —  a  town 
or  borough  —  develops  itself,  with  a  huge  tower  in  ruins 
peering  over  it.  These  hamlets  present  an  imposing 
aspect.  Young  women  are  seen  busily  washing  and  sing- 
ing, with  children  playing  round  them ;  the  basket- 
maker  at  work  on  the  door-step  of  his  hut ;  the  fisherman 
mending  his  net  in  his  boat :  all  perform  what  God  has 
ordered,  —  man  as  well  as  the  orb  of  day. 

The  towns  have  a  more  complicated  and  lively  aspect. 
They  abound  on  the  Ehine.  We  have  Bingen,  Oberwesel, 
Saint  Goar,  Neuwied,  Andernach,  Linz,  the  big  commune 
with  square  towers,  which  was  besieged  by  Charles  the 
Bold  in  1476,  and  which  faces  Sinzig,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Ehine,  built  by  Sentius  to  guard  the  embouchure 
of  the  Aar;  Boppart,  the  ancient  Bodobriga,  a  fort  of 
Drusus,  a  royal  fief  of  the  Frank  kings,  proclaimed  an  im- 
perial town  at  the  same  time  as  Oberwesel ;  the  bailiwick 
of  Treves,  a  charming  old  city,  which  preserves  an  idol 
in  its  church,  over  which  church  rise  two  Eoman  towers 
connected  by  a  bridge,  and  resembling  two  big  oxen  under 
the  yoke.  I  remarked  at  the  gate  of  the  town  as  you  as- 
cend the  river,  a  lonely  ruined  apsis.  It  is  Caub,  the  town 
of  the  Palatines.  Then  comes  Braubach,  named  in  a  char- 
ter of  933,  a  fief  of  the  counts  of  Arnstein  and  Lahngau, 


THE  KHINE.  305 

an  imperial  city  under  Eodolph  in  1279,  a  domain  of  the 
Counts  of  Katzenellenbogen  in  1283,  which  fell  to  Hesse 
in  1473,  to  Darmstadt  in  1632,  and  to  Nassau  in  1802. 

Braubach,  which  communicates  with  the  baths  of  the 
Taunus,  is  admirably  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  high 
rock  which  is  crowned  by  Markusburg.  The  old  castle 
of  Saint  Mark  is  to-day  a  state  prison.  Every  marquis 
must  have  his  pages.  My  lord  of  Nassau  would  seem  to 
be  giving  himself  airs  in  having  state  prisoners.  It  is 
quite  too  great  a  luxury. 

Twelve  thousand  six  hundred  inhabitants  in  eleven 
hundred  houses ;  a  bridge  of  thirty-six  boats  built  over 
the  Rhine  in  1819;  a  stone  bridge  of  fourteen  arches 
built  over  the  Moselle  on  the  foundations  of  the  bridge 
constructed  by  Archbishop  Baldwin  in  1311,  by  means 
of  an  ample  sale  of  indulgences ;  the  celebrated  fort  of 
Ehrenbreitstein,  surrendered  to  the  French  on  the  27th 
of  January,  1799,  after  a  blockade  during  which  the  be- 
sieged paid  three  francs  for  a  cat  and  thirty  sous  for 
a  pound  of  horse-flesh ;  a  well  five  hundred  and  eighty 
feet  deep,  dug  by  the  margrave  John  of  Baden ;  the 
square  of  the  arsenal,  on  which  was  once  mounted  the 
famous  culverin  the  Griffon,  which  carried  a  hundred 
and  sixty  pounds  and  weighed  twenty  thousand ;  a  fine 
old  Franciscan  convent  converted  into  a  hospital  in  1804 ; 
a  Eoman  church  of  Our  Lady,  restored  after  the  Pompa- 
dour style  and  painted  rose ;  a  church  of  Saint  Florin 
converted  into  a  storehouse  for  forage  by  the  French,  and 
now  an  evangelical  church  (it  is  worse  still,  in  point  of 
art,  and  also  painted  rose) ;   a  collegial  church  of  Saint 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  20 


306  THE  RHINE. 

Castor,  enriched  with  a  portal  of  1805  and  painted  rose ; 
not  a  single  library,  —  such  is  Coblentz,  which  the  French 
write  Coblentz  out  of  politeness  towards  the  Germans,  and 
the  Germans  CoUence,  out  of  courtesy  to  the  French. 
Coblentz  was  at  first  a  Eoman  castrum  in  the  Altehof, 
then  a  royal  court  under  the  Franks,  an  imperial  residence 
up  to  Louis  of  Bavaria,  a  city  patronized  by  the  Counts 
of  Arnstein  until  1250,  and  by  the  Archbishops  of  Treves 
from  the  time  of  Arnold  II.  It  was  in  vain  besieged  by 
Vaubau  and  Louis  XIV.  in  person,  was  captured  by  the 
French  in  1794,  and  given  to  the  Prussians  in  1815. 
As  for  myself,  I  did  not  enter  it.  So  many  churches 
painted  in  rose  frightened  me  away. 

As  a  military  station,  Coblentz  is  an  important  place. 
Its  three  fortresses  face  in  all  directions.  The  Chartreuse 
commands  the  road  to  Mayence,  the  Petersberg  guards 
the  road  to  Treves  and  Cologne,  and  the  Ehrenbreitstein 
watches  the  Ehine  and  the  road  to  Nassau. 

Coblentz  has  been  perhaps  too  highly  praised  for  its 
scenery,  especially  if  it  be  compared  to  other  cities  of  the 
Ehine  which  nobody  visits  or  speaks  of.  Ehrenbreitstein, 
once  a  fine  colossal  ruin,  is  now  a  gloomy  citadel  which 
crowns  in  sorry  fashion  a  magnificent  rock.  The  ancient 
fortresses  were  the  true  crowns  of  the  mountains.  Every 
tower  was  a  fieuron. 

Some  of  these  cities  are  rich  beyond  price  in  art  and 
archaeology.  The  oldest  masters  and  the  greatest  painters 
people  their  museums.  Domenichinos,  Carracci,  Guer- 
cinos,  Garduens,  Snyders,  Laurente,  Sciarpellonis,  can  be 
seen  at   Mayence.     At   Cologne   are   Augustin    Brauns, 


THE   RHINE.  307 

Albert  Diirers,  and  Mesquidas.  Holbein,  Lucas,  Cranach, 
Scorel,  Eaphael,  and  the  sleeping  Venus  of  Titian  are  at 
Darmstadt.  Coblentz  has  the  entire  work  of  Albert  Diirer, 
with  the  exception  of  four  leaves.  Mayence  has  the  psalter 
of  1459.  Cologne  had  the  famous  missal  of  the  castle  of 
Drachenfels,  coloured  in  the  twelfth  century.  She  has 
lost  it,  but  she  has  preserved  and  still  keeps  the  precious 
letters  of  Leibnitz  addressed  to  the  Jesuit  De  Brosse. 

These  beautiful  towns  and  charming  villages  are  set  in 
the  wildest  landscapes.  Mists  creep  along  the  ravines, 
and  clouds  perched  on  the  hills  seem  to  waver  as  to  what 
wind  they  shall  wait  for ;  sombre  druidical  forests  recede 
between  the  mountains  into  the  far-away  haze ;  immense 
birds  of  prey  swoop  through  a  fantastic  sky  that  per- 
tains to  the  two  climates  which  the  Ehine  separates,  now 
dazzling  with  sunshine  as  an  Italian  sky,  now  dulled  with 
the  reddish  fogs  of  a  Greenland  atmosphere.  The  bank 
is  rugged,  the  lava  blue,  the  basalt  black  ;  everywhere 
dust  of  mica  and  quartz  abounds  ;  everywhere  violent 
fissures  are  to  be  seen,  while  the  rocks  have  the  profile  of 
flat-nosed  giants.  Eidges  of  slate  as  fine  and  thin  as  silk 
shine  in  the  sun,  and  look  like  the  backs  of  huge  boars. 
The  aspect  of  the  entire  river  is  extraordinary.  It  is 
evident  that  when  making  the  Ehine,  Nature  planned  a 
desert ;  man  has  made  a  street  of  it. 

At  the  time  of  the  Eomans  and  of  the  barbarians  the 
Ehine  was  termed  the  "  street "  of  soldiers ;  in  the  Mid- 
dle Ages,  when  the  river  was  bordered  with  ecclesiastical 
states,  and  from  its  source  to  its  mouth  was  under  the 
control  of  the  Abbott  of  Saint  Gall,  the  Bishops  of  Con- 


308  THE   RHINE. 

stance,  Bael,  Spire,  Worms,  the  Archbishop-Electors  of 
Mayence,  Treves,  and  Cologne,  the  Ehine  was  called 
"  the  street  of  the  priests  ;  "  at  present  it  is  that  of  the 
merchants. 

The  traveller  who  ascends  the  river  sees  it,  so  to  speak, 
coming  to  him,  and  then  the  sight  is  full  of  charms.  At 
each  instant  he  meets  something  which  passes  him ;  at 
one  time,  a  vessel  crowded  with  peasants,  especially  if  it 
be  Sunday ;  at  another,  a  steamboat ;  then  a  long,  two- 
masted  vessel  laden  with  merchandise,  its  pilot  attentive 
and  serious,  its  sailors  busy,  with  women  seated  near  the 
door  of  the  cabin ;  here,  a  heavy-looking  boat,  dragging 
two  or  three  after  it ;  there,  a  little  horse,  drawing  a 
huge  bark,  as  an  ant  drags  a  dead  beetle.  Suddenly  there 
is  a  winding  in  the  river ;  and  formerly,  on  turning,  an 
immense  raft,  a  floating  house,  presented  itself,  the  oars 
splashing  on  both  sides.  On  the  ponderous  machine  were 
cattle  of  all  kinds,  some  bleating,  and  others  bellowing, 
when  they  perceived  the  heifers  peaceably  grazing  on  the 
banks.  The  master  came  and  went,  looked  at  this,  then 
at  that,  while  the  sailors  busily  performed  their  respec- 
tive duties.  A  whole  village  seemed  to  live  on  this 
float,  —  on  this  prodigious  construction  of  fir. 

The  present  rafts  are,  compared  to  the  ancient  floats, 
what  a  sloop  is  to  a  three-decker.  The  rafts  of  other 
times,  composed  as  now  of  firs,  oak,  etc.,  destined  for 
ship-building,  bound  at  their  extemities  by  clamps  called 
hundsparren,  secured  at  the  joinings  by  osier  twists  and 
iron  ties,  used  to  carry  fifteen  or  sixteen  houses,  ten  or 
twelve  boats  laden  with  oars,  rigging,  and  anchors,  and 


THE  RHINE.  309 

a  thousand  rowers  ;  they  drew  eight  feet  of  water,  were 
seventy  feet  broad,  and  about  nine  hundred  long,  that  is 
to  say,  the  length  of  ten  first-class  pines  of  Murg  tied 
end  to  end.  Around  the  central  raft  and  moored  to  its 
sides  by  means  of  a  trunk  which  served  at  once  as  cable 
and  bridge,  floated,  either  to  direct  its  course  or  lessen 
the  perils  of  stranding,  ten  or  twelve  small  rafts  about 
eighty  feet  long,  some  named  knie,  others  anhdnge.  On 
the  great  raft  was  a  street  abutting  on  one  side  a  vast 
tent,  and  on  the  other  the  house  of  the  skipper ;  it  was 
a  kind  of  wooden  palace.  The  smoke  was  always  rising 
from  the  kitchen.  A  big  copper  caldron  was  boiling 
day  and  night.  Evening  and  morning  the  pilot  shouted 
the  signal,  and  raised  a  basket  suspended  from  a  pole ; 
it  was  a  sign  that  tlie  meal  was  ready,  and  the  thousand 
workmen  ran  up  with  their  wooden  spoons.  These  rafts 
consumed  during  the  voyage  eight  tuns  of  wine,  six  hun- 
dred hogsheads  of  beer,  forty  sacks  of  dried  vegetables, 
two  thousand  pounds  of  cheese,  ten  thousand  pounds  of 
smoked  meat,  twenty  thousand  pounds  of  fresh  meat, 
and  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  bread.  They  took  a  flock 
of  sheep  and  butchers  with  them.  Each  of  these  rafts 
represented  seven  or  eight  hundred  thousand  florins,  — 
that  is  to  say,  about  two  millions  of  francs. 

It  is  perhaps  difficult  to  imagine  such  an  island  of 
wood  coming  and  going  from  Namedy  to  Dordrecht, 
along  the  windings  and  turnings,  the  falls  and  serpentine 
meanderings  of  the  Rhine.  Wrecks,  it  is  true,  frequently 
take  place,  which  gave  rise  to  the  saying,  "  that  a  float 
merchant  ought  to  have  three  capitals,  —  the  first  upon 


310  THE  RHINE. 

the  Ehine,  the  second  on  land,  and  the  third  in  his  pocket." 
The  conducting  of  each  of  these  enormous  constructions 
was  left  entirely  to  the  charge  of  one  man.  At  the  end 
of  the  last  century  the  great  maitre  fiotteur  of  Eudesheim 
was  called  Old  Jung.  He  died :  since  that  time  these  great 
floats  have  disappeared. 

At  present,  twenty-five  steamers  are  engaged  on  the 
Ehine,  nineteen  of  which  belong  to  the  Cologne  Steam 
Company,  and  are  constantly  plying  from  Strasburg  to 
Dusseldorf ;  they  are  known  by  their  white  and  black 
funnels.  The  remaining  six  belong  to  the  Dusseldorf 
Company,  and  have  tri-coloured  funnels  ;  they  ply  from 
Mayence  to  Eotterdam.  The  ancient  mode  of  navigating 
the  Ehine,  which  was  by  vessels  with  sails,  contrasts 
strangely  with  the  present.  The  steamboats,  with  life  in 
their  appearance,  rapid,  comfortable,  and  painted  with 
the  colours  of  all  nations,  have  for  invocation  the  names 
of  princes  and  cities, — Ludwig  II.,  Gross  Herzog  von 
Hessen,  Konigin,  Victoria,  Herzog  von  Nassau,  Prinzessin 
Mariann,  Gross  Herzog  von  Baden,  Stadt  Manheim,  Stadt 
Coblentz.  The  sailing-vessels  glide  slowly  along,  and 
have  at  their  prows  grave  and  reverential  names,  such 
as  Pius,  Columbus,  Amor  Sancta  Maria,  Gratia  Dei.  The 
steamboat  is  varnished  and  gold  lettered ;  the  sailing- 
vessel  is  bedaubed  with  pitch.  The  one  pursues  its  way 
beseeching  of  men ;  the  other  continues  its  course  in 
prayer.  The  one  depends  upon  man ;  the  other  places 
its  reliance  in  God,  —  food,  and  that  which  is  the  gift  of 
Heaven,  being  its  cargo. 

From  Cologne  to  Mayence  there  are  forty-nine  islands, 


THE  RHINE.  811 

covered  with  thick  verdure,  which  hides  the  smoking 
roofs,  and  shades  the  barks  in  their  charming  havens, 
each  bearing  some  secret  souvenir :  Graupenwerth,  where 
the  Hollanders  constructed  a  fort,  and  called  it  "  the 
Priest's  Bonnet;"  Pfaffenmuth,  a  fort  which  the  Span- 
iards took,  and  gave  it  the  name  of  "  Isabella  ; "  Graswerth, 
the  island  of  grass,  where  Jean  Philippe  de  Reichen- 
berg  wrote  his  "  Antiquitates  Saynenses;"  Niederwerth, 
formerly  so  rich  with  the  gifts  of  the  Margrave  Arch- 
bishop, Jean  II. ;  Urmitzer  Insel,  which  was  well  known 
to  Caesar;  and  Nonnenswerth,  the  spot  frequented  by 
Roland. 

The  souvenirs  of  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  seem  to  have 
responded  to  those  of  the  islands,  and  whatever  took 
place  on  one  side  was  sure  to  have  given  rise  to  some- 
thing else  on  the  opposite  one.  Permit  me  to  run  over 
a  few  of  them.  The  coffin  of  Saint  Nizza,  granddaughter 
of  Louis-le-Debonnaire,  is  at  Cologne ;  the  tomb  of  Saint 
Ida,  cousin  of  Charles  Martel,  is  at  Cologne.  Saint 
Genevieve  lived  in  the  woods  at  Fraunkirch,  near  a  min- 
eral fountain,  which  is  still  seen,  adjoining  a  chapel  that 
was  built  to  her  memory.  It  was  Schinderhannes  who, 
with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  forced  a  band  of  Jews  to  take 
off  their  shoes ;  then,  after  mixing  them,  ordered  each 
person  to  take  the  first  pair  he  could  find  and  be  off, 
for  he  would  put  the  last  to  instant  death.  The  ter- 
rified Jews  did  so,  and  fled  precipitately,  some  stum- 
bling, others  limping  and  hobbling,  making  a  strange 
clattering  noise,  which  excited  the  laughter  of  John 
the  Flayer, 


312  THE  EHINE. 

When  the  traveller  has  passed  Coblentz,  and  left 
behind  him  the  graceful  island  of  Oberwerth,  the  mouth 
of  the  Lahn  strikes  his  attention.  The  view  here  is 
admirable.  The  two  crumbling  towers  of  Johanniskirch, 
which  vaguely  resemble  Jumeiges,  rise,  as  it  were,  from 
the  water's  brink.  To  the  right,  above  the  borough  of 
Cappellan,  the  magnificent  fortress  of  Stolzenfels  stands, 
upon  the  brow  of  a  huge  rock ;  and  to  the  left,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  horizon,  the  clouds  and  the  setting  sun 
mingle  with  the  sombre  ruins  of  Lahneck,  which  abound 
with  enigmas  for  the  historian,  and  darkness  for  the  an- 
tiquary. On  each  side  of  the  Lahn  is  a  pretty  town, — 
Niederlahnstein  and  Oberlahnstein,  which  seem  smiling 
at  each  other.  A  few  stone-throws  from  the  Oriental 
gate  of  Oberlahnstein,  the  trees  of  an  orchard  disclose,  and 
at  the  same  time  hide,  a  small  chapel  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  mean-looking  steeple. 

It  was  in  this  village  that  the  four  electors  of  the 
Ehine  —  John  of  Nassau,  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  Fred- 
erick of  Saarwarden,  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  Werner  of 
Konigstein,  Archbishop  of  Treves,  and  Eupert  III.,  Count 
Palatine  —  met  to  solemnly  proclaim  the  deposition  of 
Wenceslaus,  emperor  of  Germany.  Wenceslaus  was  dis- 
solute, wicked,  a  drunkard,  and  ferocious  when  he  drank. 
He  had  priests  drowned  who  refused  to  betray  the  secrets 
of  the  confessional  to  him.  While  suspecting  the  fidel- 
ity of  his  wife,  he  had  confidence  in  her  wisdom  and 
was  influenced  by  her  opinions.  This  excited  anxiety 
at  Eome.  The  wife  of  Wenceslaus  was  Sophia  of  Bavaria, 
and  her  confessor  was  John  Huss.     John  Huss,  a  dis- 


SOUVENIKS.  313 

ciple  of  Wickliff,  was  already  undermining  the  Pope.  It 
was  at  the  instigation  of  the  Holy  See  that  the  three 
archbishops  invited  the  Count  Palatine  to  sit  with  them. 
The  Ehine  then  ruled  Germany.  These  four  defied  the 
emperor;  then  they  named  in  his  place  the  only  one 
of  them  who  was  not  an  ecclesiastic,  —  Count  Ptupert. 
Eupert,  to  whom  this  reward  had  been  doubtless  secretly 
promised,  was  a  worthy  and  noble  ruler.  You  see  that 
in  its  lofty  guardianship  of  kingdoms  and  kings,  the 
action  of  Eome,  whether  open  or  concealed,  was  some- 
times beneficent.  The  sentence  passed  on  Wenceslaus 
rested  on  six  counts ;  the  four  principal  ones  were, 
dilapidation  of  the  domain,  the  schism  in  the  Church,  the 
civil  wars  of  the  empire,  and  his  fondness  for  having 
dogs  sleeping  in  his  bed-chamber. 

John  Huss  continued,  and  Eome  also.  "  Eather  than 
bend,"  said  John  Huss,  "I  would  throw  myself  into  the 
sea  with  a  millstone  around  my  neck."  He  grasped 
the  sword  of  the  spirit  and  fought  body  to  body  with 
Eome.  Then,  when  the  council  summoned  him,  he 
came  boldly,  without  safe  conduct,  —  venimus  sine  salva 
conducta.  You  know  the  end.  It  took  place  on  the 
6th  of  July,  1415.  The  years  which  gnaw  all  that  is 
flesh  and  surface  reduce  facts  also  to  the  state  of  a 
corpse,  and  lay  bare  the  fibres  of  history.  Por  the  thinker 
of  to-day,  thanks  to  this  denudation,  the  providential 
arrangement  of  the  events  of  this  gloomy  period,  and  the 
deposition  of  Wenceslaus  are  the  prologue  to  a  tragedy  of 
which  the  stake  at  Constance  is  the  catastrophe. 

In  front  of  this  chapel,  on  the  opposite  bank,  might  be 


314  THE   RHINE. 

seen,  not  half  a  century  ago,  the  seat  of  royalty,  the 
ancient  Konigstlihl  of  which  I  have  already  spoken. 
The  Konigstlihl  was  about  seventeen  German  feet  hish 
and  twenty-four  in  diameter.  The  form  of  it  was  some- 
what as  follows :  seven  pillars  of  stone  supported  a 
broad  octagonal  platform  of  stone,  sustained  at  its  centre 
by  an  eighth  pillar  thicker  than  the  others,  representing 
the  emperor  in  the  midst  of  the  seven  electors.  Seven 
stone  chairs,  corresponding  to  the  seven  pillars  above 
which  each  of  them  was  placed,  occupied  seven  of  the 
corners  of  the  platform,  arranged  in  a  circle  and  facing 
one  another.  The  eighth  corner,  looking  towards  the 
south,  was  filled  by  a  staircase  composed  of  fourteen 
steps,  two  for  each  elector.  Everything  in  this  grave 
and  venerable  edifice  had  a  meaning.  Behind  each  chair 
were  sculptured  and  painted  the  arms  of  the  seven  elect- 
ors, —  the  Lion  of  Bohemia  ;  the  Crossed  Swords  of  Bran- 
denburg ;  Saxony,  which  bore  an  eagle  argent  on  gules  ;  the 
Palatinate  with  a  Lion  argent;  Treves,  argent,  Cross 
gules ;  Cologne,  argent,  Cross  sahle;  and  Mayence,  gules, 
a  Wheel  argent.  These  emblazonments,  whose  enamel, 
colours,  and  gilding  faded  under  sun  and  rain,  were  the 
only  ornaments  of  this  old  granite  throne. 

Thus,  in  the  open  air,  under  the  sunlight  of  heaven, 
seated  in  those  rigid  stone  chairs  above  which  the  trees 
waved  their  foliage  and  the  clouds  chased  one  another, 
rough  and  simple-minded,  innocent  and  august  as  the 
kings  of  Homer,  did  the  ancient  electors  of  Germany  choose 
their  emperor.  Later  on  these  grand  customs  faded  away. 
A   civilization  less   epic   assembled  around  the  leather- 


SOUVENIRS.  315 

covered  table  of  Frankfort  the  seven  princes,  increased 
towards  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century  to  the  num- 
ber of  nine  by  the  addition  of  Bavaria  and  Brunswick  to 
the  electorate. 

The  seven  princes  who  sat  on  these  stones  in  the 
Middle  Ages  were  powerful  and  august.  The  electors 
occupied  the  summit  of  the  Holy  Empire.  They  took 
precedence  in  the  imperial  procession  of  the  four  dukes, 
the  four  archmarshals,  the  four  landgraves,  the  four 
burgraves,  the  four  chief  counts  of  war,  the  four  abbots, 
the  four  burghers,  the  four  knights,  the  four  cities,  the 
four  villages,  the  four  hamlets,  the  four  marquises,  the 
four  counts,  the  four  lords,  the  four  mountains,  the  four 
barons,  the  four  possessions,  the  four  huntsmen,  the  four 
officers  of  Suabia,  and  the  four  servitors.  Each  had 
borne  before  him  by  his  own  marshal  a  sword  in  a  gilt 
scabbard.  They  called  the  other  princes  the  "  crowned 
heads, "  and  styled  themselves  the  "  crowning  hands." 
The  Golden  Bull  compared  them  to  the  Seven  Gifts  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  to  the  Seven  Hills  of  Eorae,  to  the  Seven 
Branches  of  Solomon's  candlestick.  Among  them  the 
rank  of  elector  took  precedence  of  the  rank  of  king ; 
the  Archbishop  of  Mayence  walked  on  the  right  of  the 
emperor,  and  the  King  of  Bohemia  on  the  right  of  the 
archbishop.  They  were  so  great,  their  greatness  was 
seen  from  so  far,  and  they  swayed  nations  from  such  a 
height  that  the  Swiss  peasants  called  and  still  call  the 
seven  mountains  of  their  lake  Sieben  Chiirfurstein,  the 
Seven  Electors. 

The   Konigstiihl   has   disappeared,   the   electors   also. 


316  THE  KHINE. 

Four   stones  to-day  mark  the  place  of  the  Konigstlihl ; 
nothing  marks  the  place  of  the  electors. 

In  the  sixteenth  century,  when  it  became  the  fashion 
to  name  the  emperor  at  Frankfort,  either  in  the  hall  of 
the  Eoemer  or  in  the  chapel  of  the  conclave  of  Saint 
Bartholomew,  the  election  became  a  complicated  cere- 
mony. It  took  its  tinge  from  Spanish  etiquette.  The 
formulary  became  very  minute  ;  the  surroundings,  severe, 
suspicious,  and  even  terrible  at  times.  On  the  morning  of 
the  day  appointed  for  the  election,  the  gates  of  the  city 
were  shut,  the  burghers  took  their  arms,  the  drums  beat, 
the  tocsin  rang ;  the  electors,  clad  in  cloth  of  gold  and 
scarlet  lined  with  ermine,  wearing  the  electoral  cap  or  the 
mitre,  according  as  they  were  seculars  or  archbishops, 
received  solemnly  the  oath  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  the 
city,  who  pledged  himself  to  guarantee  them  from  "being 
taken  by  surprise  by  one  another  ;  "  this  over,  they  took 
an  oath  of  the  same  tenor  in  presence  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Mayence  ;  then  Mass  was  said  for  them ;  they  sat  on 
chairs  of  black  velvet,  the  marshal  of  the  empire  "  shut 
the  wickets,"  and  they  proceeded  to  the  election.  Al- 
though the  doors  were  closed,  the  chancellors  and  notaries  i 
had  free  egress.  At  last  the  "  most  reverend  "  came  to 
an  agreement  with  the  "  most  illustrious,"  the  King  of  the 
Eomans  was  named,  the  princes  rose  from  their  chairs, 
and  while  the  presentation  to  the  people  was  taking  place 
at  the  window  of  the  Eoemer,  one  of  the  suffragans  chanted 
a  "  Te  Deum  "  in  Saint  Bartholomew  with  the  aid  of  three 
choirs  assisted  by  the  organ  of  the  church,  the  trumpets 
of  the  electors,  and  the  trumpets  of  the  emperor. 


SOUVENIRS.  317 

"All  tills  was  done,"  says  the  anonymous  chronicler  of 
the  election  of  Mathias  II.,  "  to  the  sound  of  the  great 
bells  on  the  towers,  and  of  the  great  cannon,  which  were 
mad  from  joy." 

In  my  opinion  the  ceremony  on  the  Konigstiihle  was 
grander  and  simpler.  The  electors  mounted  in  procession 
the  platform  by  the  fourteen  steps,  each  a  foot  high,  and 
sat  down  in  the  stone  chairs.  The  people  of  Khens,  kept 
back  by  the  halberdiers,  surrounded  the  royal  seat.  The 
Archbishop  of  Mayence  stood  up  and  said,  "  Most  high- 
born princes,  the  Holy  Empire  is  vacant."  Then  he  in- 
toned the  antiphone  "  Veni,  sancte  spiritus,"  and  the 
Archbishops  of  Cologne  and  Treves  chanted  the  other 
collects  connected  with  it.  The  seven  electors  then  took 
the  oath, — the  seculars  with  their  hands  on  the  Gospel,  the 
ecclesiastics  with  their  hands  on  their  hearts ;  a  fine  and 
touching  distinction,  which  means  that  the  heart  of  every 
priest  ought  to  be  an  exemplar  of  the  Gospel.  After  the 
oath,  they  sat  down  and  conversed  in  a  low  voice ;  sud- 
denly the  Archbishop  of  Mayence  arose,  stretched  his 
hands  to  the  heavens,  and  cried  aloud  to  the  people  in 
the  distance,  scattered  among  the  hedges,  groves,  and 
meadows,  the  name  of  the  new  temporal  head  of  Chris- 
tendom. Thereupon  the  marshal  of  the  empire  planted 
the  imperial  banner  on  the  banks  of  the  Ehine,  and  the 
people  shouted,  "  Vivat  rex  !" 

Before  Lothaire,  who  was  elected  on  the  11th  of  Septem- 
ber, 1125,  the  same  eagle,  the  golden  eagle,  was  displayed 
on  the  banner  of  the  empire  of  the  East  and  on  the 
banner   of  the   empire   of  the  West.      But   the   ruddy 


318  THE  RHINE. 

sky  of  the  dawn  was  reflected  in  one,  the  chilly  sky  of 
the  north  in  the  other.  The  eastern  banner  was  red  ;  the 
western  banner  blue.  Lothaire  substituted  for  these  colours 
the  colours  of  his  house,  or  and  scible.  The  golden  eagle 
on  a  blue  field  was  replaced  on  the  imperial  banner  by 
the  black  eagle  on  a  golden  field.  As  long  as  there  were 
two  empires,  there  were  two  eagles,  and  these  two  eagles 
had  only  one  head ;  but  at  the  end  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  when  the  Greek  empire  had  fallen,  the  Germanic 
empire,  being  the  only  one  left,  decided,  in  sign  of  repre- 
senting the  two  empires,  east  and  west,  on  taking  two 
heads. 

Nor  was  this  the  first  appearance  of  the  double-headed 
eagle.  We  may  see  it  carved  on  the  buckler  of  one  of  the 
soldiers  of  Trajan's  column  ;  and  if  we  are  to  believe  the 
monk  of  Attaich  and  the  collection  of  Urstisius,  Eodolph 
of  Hapsburg  wore  it  embroidered  on  his  breast  on  the 
26th  of  August,  1278,  at  the  battle  of  Marchefeld. 

When  the  banner  was  planted  on  the  banks  of  the  Ehine 
in  honour  of  the  new  emperor,  the  people,  if  the  wind  blew 
it  about,  drew  omens  from  the  manner  in  which  it  waved. 
In  1346,  when  the  electors,  at  the  instigation  of  Pope 
Clement  VI.,  proclaimed  Charles,  Margrave  of  Moravia, 
King  of  the  Eomans,  although  Louis  V.  was  still  alive,  to 
the  cry  of  "  Vivat  rex ! "  the  imperial  banner  fell  into  the 
Ehine  and  was  lost.  Fifty  years  later,  in  1400,  the  fatal 
omen  was  accomplished :  Wenceslaus,  the  son  of  Charles, 
was  deposed. 

And  this  fall  of  the  banner  also  foretold  the  fall  of  the 
House  of  Luxemburg,  which,  after  Charles  IV.  and  Wen- 


ANCIENT  CASTLES.  319 

ceslaus,  had  only  one  emperor  more,  Sigismimd,  and  sank 
forever  before  the  House  of  Austria. 

After  leaving  this  place  the  traveller  proceeds  towards 
Braubach ;  passes  Boppart,  Welmich,  Saint  Goar,  Ober- 
wesel ;  and  suddenly  comes  to  an  immense  rock  sur- 
mounted by  an  enormous  tower  on  the  right  bank  of  the 
river.  At  the  base  of  the  rock  is  a  pretty  little  town  with 
a  Eoman  church  in  the  centre  ;  and  opposite,  in  the  middle 
of  the  Ehine,  is  a  strange  oblong  edifice,  whose  back  and 
front  resemble  the  prow  and  poop  of  a  vessel,  and  whose 
large  and  low  windows  are  like  hatches  and  portholes. 

The  tower  is  the  Gutenfels ;  this  town  is  Caub  ;  this 
stone  ship — eternally  on  the  Ehine,  and  always  at  anchor 
— is  the  Palace,  or  Pfalz.  To  enter  this  symbolic  residence, 
which  is  built  upon  a  bank  of  marble,  called  "  the  Eock 
of  the  Palatine  Counts,"  we  must  ascend  a  ladder  that 
rests  upon  a  drawbridge,  a  portion  of  which  is  still  to  be 
seen. 

Prom  Taunus  to  the  Seven  Mountains  there  are  four- 
teen castles  on  the  right  bank  of  the  river,  and  fifteen  on 
the  left,  making  in  all  twenty-nine,  which  bear  the  sou- 
venirs of  volcanoes,  the  traces  of  war,  and  the  devastations 
of  time.  Pour  of  these  castles  were  built  in  the  eleventh 
century,  —  Ehrenfels,  by  the  Archbishop  of  Siegfried ; 
Stahleck,  by  the  Counts  Palatine  ;  Sayn,  by  Frederick, 
first  Count  of  Sayn,  and  vanquisher  of  the  Moors  of  Spain  ; 
Hammerstein,  by  Otho,  Count  of  Veteravia.  Two  were 
constructed  in  the  twelfth  century, — Gutenfels,  by  the 
Counts  of  Nuringen,  and  Eolandseck,  by  Archbishop 
Arnold  II.,  in  1139  ;    two  in  the  thirteenth  century, — 


320  THE  RHINE. 

Furstenberg,  by  the  Palatines,  and  Rheinfels,  in  1219,  by 
Thierry  III.,  Count  of  Katzenelleubogen ;  four  in  the 
fourteenth  century,  —  Vogtsberg,  in  1340,  by  a  Falken- 
stein ;  Fursteneck,  in  1348,  by  Archbishop  Henry  III. ; 
the  Cat,  1383,  by  the  Count  of  Katzenelleubogen ; 
and  the  Mouse,  ten  years  after,  by  a  Falkenstein. 
Only  one  dates  from  the  sixteenth  century,  —  Philipsburg, 
built  between  1568  and  1571,  by  the  Landgrave  Philip 
the  Younger.  Four  of  these  citadels,  all  on  the  left 
bank  (a  fact  worthy  of  notice), —  Reichenstein,  Rheinstein, 
Falkenberg,  and  Sonnech,  —  were  destroyed  in  1282  by  Eo- 
dolph  of  Hapsburg.  One,  the  Rolandseck,  was  destroyed 
by  the  Emperor  Henry  V.,  five  by  Louis  XIV.,  in  1689, — 
Fursteneck,  Stahleck,  Schoenberg,  Stolzenfels,  and  Ham- 
merstein ;  one  by  Napoleon,  —  the  Rheinfels  ;  one  by  a 
conflagration,  —  Rheineck  ;  and  one  by  the  Black  Band, 
—  Gutenfels. 

We  do  not  know  who  built  Falkenberg,  Stolzenfels, 
Rheineck,  and  Markusburg,  restored  in  1644  by  John, 
Landgrave  of  Hesse-Darmstadt.  We  do  not  know  who 
has  demolished  Vogtsberg,  the  ancient  dwelling  of  some 
lord  who  had  made  a  vow,  as  the  name  indicates, 
Ehrenfels,  Fursteneck,  Sayn,  the  Cat,  and  the  Mouse. 
An  obscurity  still  deeper  covers  six  of  these  manors,  — 
Heimberg,  Rheinberg,  Liebenstein,  Sternberg,  Lahneck, 
and  Okenfels.  They  came  from  darkness  and  they  have 
returned  thither.  We  do  not  know  who  built  or  who 
destroyed  them.  Nothing  is  stranger  in  the  very  middle 
of  history  than  this  thick  veil,  through  which  we  dimly 
perceive   the   wars   of   the   Hanse   towns    of  the  Rhine 


Sonnecb  Castle. 

Photo-etching  by  John  Andrew  and  Son  Company, 
from  Photograph. 


ANCIENT  CASTLES.  321 

against  the  lords,  towards  the  year  1400  ;  and  still  earlier, 
in  the  growing  darkness  of  the  twelfth  century,  the  for- 
midable figure  of  Barbarossa  exterminating  the  burgraves. 
Several  of  these  fortresses  whose  history  is  lost  are  half 
Eoman,  half  Carlovingian.  The  other  ruins  are  not  quite 
so  obscure.  We  can  find  some  record  of  them  here  and 
there  in  the  old  charters.  Stahleck,  which  towers  above 
Bacharach  and  is  said  to  have  been  founded  by  the  Huns, 
witnessed  the  death  of  Hermann  in  the  twelfth  century  ; 
the  Hohenstaufen,  the  Guelfs,  and  the  Wittelsbach  lived 
in  it,  and  it  was  besieged  and  taken  eight  times  between 
1620  and  1640.  Schoenberg,  the  source  of  the  Belmont 
family  and  of  the  legend  of  the  Seven  Sisters,  was  the 
birthplace  of  Frederick  of  Schoenberg,  whose  singular 
fate  it  was  to  established  the  Braganzas  and  throw  down 
the  Stewarts.  The  Rheinfels  resisted  the  cities  of  the 
Rhine  in  1225,  and  Marshal  de  Tallard  in  1692,  and 
surrendered  to  the  French  Eepublic  in  1794.  The 
Stolzenfels  was  the  residence  of  the  Archbishops  of 
Treves.  Rheineck  saw  the  death,  in  1544,  of  the  last 
Count  of  Rheineck,  Canon-custodian  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Treves.  Hammerstein  had  to  endure  the  quarrel 
between  the  Counts  of  Veteravia  and  the  Archbishop  of 
Mayence,  the  shock  of  the  emperor  Henri  11.  in  1017,  the 
flight  of  the  emperor  Henry  IV.  in  1105,  the  Thirty 
Years'  War,  the  passage  of  the  Swedes  and  Spaniards, 
the  devastation  of  the  French  in  1689,  and  the  shame  of 
having  been  sold  for  a  hundred  crowns  in  1823.  Gutenfels, 
the  haughty  sentry-box  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  the  pleas- 
ant asylum  of  the  fair  Countess  Guda  and  the  amorous 

VOL.  XXVII.  —  21 


322  THE  RHINE. 

Emperor  Eichard,  was  besieged  four  times,  —  by  the 
Hessians  in  1604  and  1631,  by  the  Imperialists  in  1620 
and  1642  ;  was  sold  in  1289  by  Garnier  of  Muzenberg 
to  the  Elector  Palatine  Louis  the  Severe  for  two  thousand 
one  hundred  marks  of  silver ;  and  had  the  degradation  of 
being  again  sold  in  1807  for  six  hundred  francs. 

This  long  and  double  row  of  venerable  edifices,  at 
once  poetic  and  military,  which  bear  upon  their  front  all 
the  epochs  of  the  Ehine,  every  one  having  its  sieges  and 
its  legends,  begins  at  Bingen,  by  the  Ehrenfels  on  the 
right,  and  by  the  Eat  Tower  on  the  left,  and  finishes  at 
Kouigswinter,  by  the  Eolandseck  on  the  left,  and  the 
Drachenfels  on  the  right. 

The  number  which  I  have  given  includes  only  those 
castles  that  are  on  the  banks  of  the  Ehine,  and  which 
every  traveller  will  see  in  passing  ;  but  should  he  explore 
the  valleys  and  ascend  the  mountains,  he  will  meet  a 
ruin  at  every  step ;  and  if  he  ascend  the  Seven  Moun- 
tains he  will  find  an  abbey,  Schomburg,  and  six  castles, 
—  the  Drachenfels,  Wolkenberg,  Lowenberg,  Nonnes- 
tromberg,  and  the  Qi^lberg,  the  last  of  which  was  built 
by  Yalentinian,  in  the  year  368. 

In  the  plain  near  Mayence  is  Frauenstein,  which  was 
built  in  the  twelfth  century,  Scarfenstein,  and  Greifen- 
klau ;  and  on  the  Cologne  side  is  the  admirable  castle  of 
Godesberg. 

These  ancient  castles  which  border  the  Ehine  these 
colossal  bounds,  built  by  feudalism,  fill  the  country  with 
reveries  and  pleasant  associations.  They  have  been  mute 
vdtnesses  of    bygone  ages,  prominent  features  in  great 


ANCIENT  CASTLES.  323 

actions,  and  their  walls  have  echoed  the  cries  of  war  and 
the  murmiirings  of  peace.  They  stand  there  like  eternal 
monuments  of  the  dark  dramas  which,  since  the  tenth 
century,  have  been  played  on  the  Ehine. 

They  have  seen  —  at  least  the  oldest  of  them  have  — 
the  entrances  and  the  exits  of  all  the  lofty,  strange,  and 
terrible  actors  in  the  providential  drama :  Pepin,  who 
gave  cities  to  the  Pope  •  Charlemagne,  clad  in  a  woollen 
shirt  and  a  doublet  of  otter  skin,  leaning  on  the  shoulder 
of  the  old  deacon  Peter  of  Pisa,  and  caressing  with  his 
strong  hand  the  elephant  Abulabaz ;  Otho  the  Lion, 
shaking  his  blond  mane;  the  Margrave  of  Italy,  Azzo, 
bearing  his  victorious  banner,  with  angels  painted  on  it, 
at  the  battle  of  Marseburg;  Henry  the  Lame;  Conrad 
the  Elder  and  Conrad  the  Younger;  Henry  the  Black, 
who  imposed  four  German  popes  on  Eome  ;  Rodolph  of 
Saxony,  bearing  on  his  crown  the  papal  hexameter,  — 
Petra  dedit  Petro,  Petrus  diadema  Rodolpho ;  Godfrey  of 
Bouillon,  who  drove  the  pike  of  the  imperial  flag  into 
the  bodies  of  the  enemies  of  the  empire ;  Henry  V,,  who 
rode  his  horse  up  the  marble  steps  of  Saint  Peter  at 
Rome.  There  is  no  great  figure  in  German  history  whose 
profile  has  not  been  engraved  on  these  venerable  stones : 
the  old  Duke  Welf,  Albert  the  Bear,  Saint  Bernard; 
Barbarossa,  who  mistook  the  hand  while  holding  the 
Pope's  stirrup ;  Archbishop  Raynald  of  Cologne,  who 
tore  away  the  fringe  from  the  Carrocium  of  Milan  ;  Rich- 
ard Coeur-de-Lion,  William  of  Holland ;  Frederick  II., 
the  gentle  emperor  with  the  Greek  face,  a  friend  of 
poets  like  Augustus,  and  a  friend  of  caliphs  like  Charle- 


324  THE   RHINE. 

magne,  studying  in  his  tent,  where  a  golden  sun  and 
a  silver  moon  marked  the  seasons  and  the  hours.  They 
have  seen  the  monk  Christian  preaching  the  gospel  to 
the  peasants  of  Prussia ;  Hermann  Salza,  first  grand 
master  of  the  Teutonic  Order,  a  great  builder  of  cities ; 
Ottocar,  King  of  Bohemia ;  Frederick  of  Baden  and  Con- 
radin  of  Suabia,  both  beheaded  at  sixteen;  Louis  V., 
Landgrave  of  Thuringia,  and  husband  of  Saint  Elizabeth ; 
Frederick  the  Bitten,  who  bore  on  his  cheek  the  mark 
of  his  mother's  despair ;  and  Rodolph  of  Hapsburg,  who 
mended  his  own  grey  doublet.  They  have  resounded 
with  the  motto  of  Eberhard,  Count  of  Wurtemburg, — 
"  Glory  to  God  !  War  to  the  world  !  "  ^  They  have  shel- 
tered Sigismund,  that  emperor  whose  justice  was  wisely 
weighed  but  badly  executed ;  Louis  V.,  the  last  emperor 
who  was  excommunicated ;  and  Frederick  III.,  the  last 
emperor  who  was  crowned  at  Rome.  They  have  heard 
Petrarch  chiding  Charles  IV.  for  having  stayed  only  one 
day  at  Eome,  and  crying  to  him,  "  What  would  your 
ancestors  the  Caesars  say  if  they  met  you  now,  your  head 
downcast,  and  your  back  turned  on  Italy  ? "  They  have 
seen  pass,  humiliated  and  furious,  the  German  Achilles, 
Albert  of  Brandenburg,  after  the  lesson  taught  him  at 
Nuremberg,  and  the  Burgundian  Achilles,  Charles  the 
Bold,  after  the  fifty-six  assaults  on  Neuss.  They  have 
seen  pass  the  western  bishops,  probably  borne  on  their 
mules  and  in  their  litters,  wlio  went  in  1415  to  the 
Council  of  Constance  to  judge  John  Huss ;  in  1431  to 

1  lu  the  text  it  is  "  (/hire  au  monde ;  "  but  this  must  be  an  error,  either 
of  the  author  or  printer.  —  Tk. 


ANCIENT  CASTLES.  325 

the  Council  of  Basle  to  depose  Eugenius  IV. ;  and  in 
1519  to  the  Diet  of  Worms  to  interrogate  Luther.  They 
have  seen  floating  on  the  river  from  Oberwesel  to  Bacha- 
rach,  his  fair  hair  mingled  with  the  waves,  the  white 
body  of  Saint  Werner,  a  poor  little  child,  martyred  by 
the  Jews,  and  flung  into  the  Ehine  in  1287.  They  have 
seen  the  velvet-covered  bier,  borne  under  a  golden  can- 
opy, of  Mary  of  Burgundy,  who  died  of  a  fall  from  her 
horse  while  hunting  the  heron.  The  hideous  horde  of 
the  Magyars,  the  growls  of  the  Mongols,  checked  by 
Henry  the  Pious  in  the  thirteenth  century ;  the  cries  of 
the  Hussites,  who  would  reduce  to  five  all  the  cities  of 
the  earth ;  the  threats  of  Procopius  the  Big  and  Proco- 
pius  the  Little ;  the  tumultuous  roar  of  the  Turks  as 
they  sailed  up  the  Danube  after  the  taking  of  Constan- 
tinople ;  the  iron  cage  into  which  the  vengeance  of  kings 
flung  John  of  Leyden  chained  between  his  chancellor 
Krechting  and  his  headsman  Knipperdolling ;  the  youth- 
ful Charles  V.,  his  shield  sparkling  with  the  word  non- 
dum  in  diamond  stars ;  Wallenstein,  served  by  sixty 
pages  of  noble  birth ;  Tilly,  in  his  green  satin  coat  on 
his  little  grey  horse  ;  Gustavus  Adolphus  crossing  the 
Thuringian  forest ;  the  wrath  of  Louis  XIV. ;  the  wrath 
of  Frederick  II. ;  the  wrath  of  Napoleon,  —  all  these  ter- 
rible things,  which  by  turns  shook  and  frightened  Europe, 
have  struck  with  their  lightnings  these  old  walls.  These 
glorious  fortresses  have  received  the  counter-shock  of  the 
Swiss  destroying  the  ancient  cavalry  at  Sempach,  and  of 
the  great  Condd  destroying  the  ancient  infantry  at  Eo- 
croy.     They  have  heard  the  cracking  of  scaling-ladders. 


326  THE  RHINE. 

the  hissing  of  boiling  pitch,  the  bellowing  of  cannon. 
The  lansquenets,  those  servants  of  the  lance ;  the 
hedge-hog  battle  array  so  fatal  to  squadrons  ;  the  sud- 
den attacks  of  Sickingen,  the  great  knight;  the  well- 
planned  assaults  of  Burtenbach,  the  great  captain,  —  all 
this  they  have  seen  and  braved  and  endured.  Now  mel- 
ancholy during  the  night,  when  the  moon  clothes  their 
spectral  forms  with  her  pallid  shroud  ;  still  more  melan- 
choly by  day ;  full  of  glory  and  of  fame,  of  nothingness 
and  weariness ;  gnawed  by  time,  sapped  by  man ;  flinging 
over  the  vineyards  on  the  hillsides  a  shadow  that  lessens 
from  year  to  year,  they  are  dropping  the  past,  stone  after 
stone  into  the  Ehine,  and  date  after  date  into  oblivion. 

Oh,  noble  donjons !  Oh,  poor  old  paralytic  giants  !  Oh, 
insulted  knights  !  a  steamboat  filled  with  tradesmen  and 
burghers  hurls  its  smoke  into  your  faces  as  it  passes  by ! 


END   OF  VOL.   I. 


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